


Running With the Wolves

by Starless_Void



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Copious Amounts of Cum, Creampie, Cunnilingus, F/M, Feral!Derek, Feral!Peter, First Time, Full Shift Werewolves, Knotting, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Incest, Outdoor Sex, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Sex, Wolfed Out Sex, but not in a bad way, dubious consent kinda, female!stiles, if that makes sense, kind of beastiality-peter and derek are stuck in full wolf form, no crazy violence, no hale on hale, oh they do the dirty in human form too, rule 63!Stiles, they do regain human form
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24766774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starless_Void/pseuds/Starless_Void
Summary: While out looking for a rare flower said to have special healing powers for werewolves, Stiles stumbles across something magical, and then finds herself in the hottest scenario that she only dreamed of in the wildest and depraved parts of her imagination. Can Stiles focus on anything other than the sensations wrecking havoc on her virginal body?Spoiler Alert- she totally does, after getting fucked six ways to Sunday.Contains sex in full wolf form, dont like, dont read.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 45
Kudos: 660





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally self indulgent smut, and i should probably feel dirty for even thinking it, let alone enjoying the process of getting it down in actual words. This is a work of total fiction, and has fantasy elements woven into the sex scenes, making some things that are impossible, possible, for the enjoyment of me, myself, and I. 
> 
> I do not condone beastiality in any way, shape or form outside of my fics, the only reason I am delving into anything close to the topic because I apparently have a werewolf kink, and I figured I am not the only one fucked up enough to dream about getting absolutely pounded by a mythological creature. 
> 
> God forgive me, for I have sinned, and it has never felt so good.

Stiles kind of hates the outside. Her fair skin may compliment her amber eyes, or whatever Lydia said, but it is un-fair how easily she burns under the harsh glare of the sun. It doesn’t help that she breaks out into a rash when she uses sunscreen, an unfortunate allergy, so she has always been perfectly happy to spend the sunny days in the shade, or even better, inside. Preferably with a good book or video game.

However, her best friend Scott, teen-turned-werewolf-turned-alpha-werewolf, really needed her to get a certain type of flower for speeding up the healing process from a wound inflicted by another alpha. Scott unfortunately learned the hard way about how even alpha werewolves aren’t immune to the claws and fangs of another alpha. 

So now Stiles finds herself wearing her hiking boots, well worn from running around in the woods at night either chasing or fleeing from some supernatural creature or another. Her backpack filled with maps, water and some light snacks, plus one of her fathers brand new GPS trackers from the newest shipment of gear for the police station. 

She is just making sure it really works in the middle of nowhere! Just because her dad doesn’t know she has it doesn’t make it bad! And from the little bit she has messed with it already, she can rest assured that the device really does work quite well. 

Taking a breath under a large oak tree, Stiles slides her backpack off, picking at her shirt to try and get it to stop sticking to her damp skin on her back. She brings out one of the water bottles packed into the bag and gulps half of it down, the once cool water now warm, but no less pleasant on her parched tongue. Closing her eyes and taking a few more deep breaths, Stiles concentrates, the soothing sound of nature surrounding her allowing her to focus far more quickly than usual. 

“This water is special. When I pour it on my skin, it will act like SPF 1000, the gamma rays the sun is using to try and fry me will bounce right off my pasty ass,” Stiles mutters, willing her words to be true. There is a tingle down her spine as her spark feeds its power into the water and she opens her eyes to pour the liquid onto her hands and rubs it into her skin. 

Once she has fully covered her exposed skin in the water, she carefully screws the lid back on the bottle, now half full because her magic didn’t actually take any real water. She feels a little bit winded, using her magic is still foreign to her, and still tires her out a bit. 

Pushing her sunglasses back up her nose and pulling her backpack up to settle on her shoulders, Stiles sets out once more on the hunt for the ‘flower of life’ as she has taken to calling it. Amsinckia Lunaris, or the bent-flowered fiddleneck, the plant that will supposedly help Scott heal himself from the close battle he won the day before. Some giant of a man named Ennis, who looked like he lifted cars for a living turned out to be a werewolf trying to encroach upon Beacon Hills, hearing that the areas alpha was a teenage boy. 

Scotty beat him of course, using the power of friendship and whatnot to get up again and again to eventually knock the goon down for good, and gained three new betas afterword, Isaac, Boyd and Erica, who were turned against their will around the same time Scott was attacked and subsequently turned. Now the ragtag pack consisted of alpha Scott, human/emissary-in-training Stiles, hunter Allison, banshee Lydia, kitsune Kira, and the betas, Isaac, Boyd and Erica. 

As self-appointed emissary-in-training, Stiles took it upon herself to track down the rare flower, illegally of course, given that it is actually on the endangered species list, but she doesn’t plan on taking the whole plant, just part of it so she can grow her own supply. She is kind of wishing that she took Kira or Allison at this point though, at least to help her navigate the thick foliage that slowed her progress.

She is about to stop for another break when she spots the sun at its zenith through the leaves, but a flash of yellow sways in the light breeze at the edge of her line of sight, and she zeroes in on the movement, heartrate picking up in excitement. 

After struggling through a particularly clingy patch of brambles, Stiles stumbles onto a shaded glade, jaw dropping in surprise. The space was relatively level, with a smattering of boulders throughout, and was almost covered in all kinds of yellow flowers. There were common flowers like tulips, lilies, pansies, roses, daisies, and peonies, along with others that looked quite exotic and strange. 

The dull thrum at the base of her skull confirms the presence of magic that she suspected upon seeing the collection of flowers all in one place, despite many of them being out of season. The place looked too unorganized to be a garden, yet too unusual to be natural, and she doesn’t dare step into the clearing yet, not willing to potentially trap herself.

As she circles the area, she becomes aware of the mushrooms that form an imperfect boarder around the glade, and realizes that she was wrong to assume it wasn’t natural. Not to say that it isn’t supernatural too, but faerie rings were a far cry from the shit she is used to dealing with, and a grove of yellow flowers is better than a body or some imprisoned beast, and she takes a quick look around the perimeter one last time before she deems it safe to enter, careful to avoid stepping on any of the flowers. 

Just so long as she only took what she needed, and thanked the universe out loud for the gift, she will be fine. She brings out the tiny photo of the bent-flowered fiddleneck and gets to searching, taking her time so not to crush any innocent plants or take the wrong flower by mistake.

After about twenty minutes of searching, and unnecessarily thanking each plant for its time after she passes it or inspects it, there is a tickle on her arm, and she finds a beautiful butterfly perched on her skin, the incandescent wings seeming to act like a kaleidoscope, catching the few rays of light that penetrate the foliage of the trees above to sparkle with a rainbow of color. 

“Well, good day to you, butterfly.” Stiles talks in an exaggerated British accent. “May I just say, you are looking resplendent today!” The bug flaps its wings slowly, almost like it’s preening at the praise, and with the amount of magic in the air, it might be, and takes to the air, gliding to land on a great hunk of rock buried in the earth nearby. 

Blinking for a moment, Stiles just stares, until it flaps its wings again, taking to the air for a moment before landing again, looking as if it’s jumping. With a shake of her head, Stiles carefully makes her way past a cluster of lilies, with a polite, “excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, sorry for the bother,” and finds herself on her hands and knees on the flat part of the rock that fans out before coming to the peak where the butterfly is-

Stiles whips her head around, searching for the butterfly that she was so sure was there a moment ago. She is at the very edge of the clearing, the rock half in the circle of mushrooms. She crawls forward to where she last saw the butterfly, and looks around again, no sign of the peculiar bug. Her head sags in disappointment, feeling as if she lost a friend, but the movement brings her eyes to rest upon a bed of Amsinckia Lunaris. 

She gasps, carefully resting her bag on the rock and reaching inside it for the capsule she prepared to house the sample. There is one plant that looks as if someone tried to plant it without digging a hole in the dirt, all of its roots resting on top of the soil, and Stiles gently inspects it, surprised when the whole flower shows no sign of ever being connected with the dirt, and easily lifts in her hand. 

She is careful to collect some loose soil from around the area to put the plant in with, and after the flower is securely nestled in the special side pocket she engineered into her backpack she clasps her hands together, thanking the universe for allowing her to visit the beautiful area, and smiles genuinely as she looks around at the other flowers, thanking them for their time. 

Wanting to stay, but knowing she has to leave, Stiles shimmies down the rock, sliding her bag carefully along with her, mindful of the precious plant in her care. The hum of magic dims as she scoots backwards past the boarder of the circle, and she settles her feet on the soft grass of the forest. 

As she checks that the plant is secure, she adjusts the set of her pants on her hips, freezing when she hears the telltale sound of fabric tearing. Groaning, she slips her hands into her pants, pulling them down to her calves, sure of her privacy in the forest next to a magical glade of flowers. 

Her underwear, some frilly lace thing that Lydia bought her about a year ago as a gag gift, had caught on her zipper of her shorts, and she must have aggravated the tear with every step she took, with the killing blow being her crawling all over the rock. Instead of sporting some sexy panties, it now looks like she is trying to bring the loincloth back, but only in the back. 

Jesus Christ, its a mullet loincloth, except reverse. Still business in the front and party in the back though.

It doesn’t help that the material is crimson red, so if she were to try and pull up her shorts like nothing happened, she would have a thin piece of red fabric hanging down her thigh. She sighs, knowing it’s no one’s fault but her own for forgetting laundry and having these be the only clean pair of underwear left in her drawer this morning.

She shimmies her hips, shedding her shorts for a moment to slip the ruined panties off. She has to bend down again to stuff them in the bottom of her bag, not wanting to leave them in the middle of the woods for some poor baby animal to choke on or some unsuspecting bird to try and make a nest with. 

There is a warm breeze that ghosts over her ass and exposed slit, that causes her to jolt before something wet and slimy firmly trails between her legs from her clit until it nearly hits her ass.

“Wha-” She moans, unable to stop the tremor of pleasure that shoots through her at the contact. Before now, the only thing that had ever been between her legs was her own hand, and her small vibrator, Pinky. Yes, she named her fucking vibrator, sue her. 

She isn’t allowed to let her thoughts wander any further as the tongue continues its ministrations, soft growls and rumbles starting behind her, and the bump of something cold and wet near her tailbone gives her a good idea of what she is going to find when she turns to look. 

She looks back slowly, because she doesn’t want to scare whatever is between her legs, not because the new sensation on her most sensitive parts, and locks gazes with the biggest wolf she has ever seen. Not that she sees a whole lot of wolves, only three actually, from the zoo about ten years ago, and even then, it was from a distance, but maybe it’s because its currently eating her out, but this wolf looks huge. 

She knows there are wolves in California now, what with the reintroduction a few years back, but she was so sure that she would never run into any.

Well, she did manage to find a magic cluster of the flowers that she came out looking for, but even that was a whole lot more plausible than finding a legitimate wolf, let alone one that apparently enjoys licking pussy.

She knows she needs to get away, she does. The pleasure fogs her mind a bit, but she tries to think of a way to get the wolf to stop slobbering all over her virgin pussy and let her leave unscathed, but her body betrays her a bit, feet subtly widening their stance, exposing more of herself to the beast ravaging her.

She is rewarded with a succession of quick, firm licks to her erect clit, before the soaking wet appendage presses against her slit, her warm and pliant body opening up easily around the intrusion, and she curls her hands into fists on the rock, involuntarily letting out a soft keen at the feeling of the dexterous muscle worming its way inside of her.

“Oh, fuck. No, no, no, Stiles this is wrong, this is so, so, so,” Her words die on her lips as the organ retracts, then fiercely dives back in, the wild animal tongue fucking her sopping cunt. She wants to say that its only wet because of the slobber, but she can’t, she can feel her walls clench around the tongue, and she has never felt this turned on in her life. 

The scalding breath of the beast puffs over her heated skin, and she can’t stop her body from trembling, knowing she is so close to orgasm. Oh, fuck. She is about to have an orgasm as a result of something other than herself, does that count as losing her virginity? Is she about to lose her virginity to a goddamn wolf in the middle of the woods?

Before she can panic, the tongue ceases its movement, pulling out of her slick channel. She whines at the loss of stimulation after being so close to orgasm, but coughs to cover it up, bracing herself on the rock to stand. 

She barely tenses her muscles to push herself up before a heavy weight settles on her back, forcing the top half of her body to lie flat on the rock, the cold surface on her hardened nipples shocking her, even though her top and bra. Soft and warm fur brushes up her back and down the back of her thighs, huge paws landing on the edge of the rock behind where her breasts were being flattened, and she couldn’t have held back her moan of pleasure if she tried when the scorching heat of a wet cock rubs between her legs, coating itself in her juices. 

She should probably be worried about the possibly mutated giant wolf that is about to fuck her silly, but after years of repressing her sexual needs to focus on living through whatever horror decided to haunt Beacon Hills the past five years, she stops thinking with her brain, and starts thinking with her cunt, which is horrifically empty and wet, and really needs to be filled right now, with the wolfs huge cock.

There is a downright feral snarl from above her, and the beast starts to snap its hips in an urgent pace, cock rubbing fervently against her folds, prodding her slit before sliding past, not gaining entry, and they both start to become agitated at the lack of actual fucking, the wolf actually snapping its jaws dangerously close to her head with every miss, and if Stiles had any preservation skills, she would be passed out in fear right now. As it were, Stiles finally gets fed up with the anticipation, resting her weight on her chest to reach back and grasp the pulsing length, the wolf letting out an adorably pained whine at the stimulation to its neglected cock, and leading it to her opening, while simultaneously circling her hips.

As soon as the tapered head pops into her dripping channel, the wolf lets out a small howl of victory as its hips snap forward, and it buries its full girth in the young woman’s pussy, the head just barely brushing her cervix, the already swelling knot at the base preventing the wolf from fully sheathing itself in the warm, wet heat of its chosen mate. 

Stiles has her hands back on the rock, her head thrown back, face to the sky, eyes wide with the feeling of the long, thick cock throbbing inside her. It’s a burning heat, reaching all the way into her, and she can feel it brush against the very back of her cunt, every graze of the tip against that sensitive flesh punching a sob of pure pleasure out of her. She thought her first time was supposed to hurt, but the only thing she feels in this moment is all encompassing bliss.

Giving her only seconds to adjust, the wolf begins to hump her desperately, knot knocking against her tight rim with every thrust. She is brought right to the edge again, and when the panting breaths above her head turn harsher, her breath stutters, and when its tongue laves across her neck, leaving a trail of sticky slobber, she snaps, walls clenching tightly around the wolf, who gives one last powerful thrust and pops the swelling knot at the base of its cock into her channel. 

The pressure is indescribable, and her pleasure only grows as the wolf doesn’t cease its movements, merely switching from hard thrusts to harsh grinds, and the knot rubs directly on her g-spot, causing her to orgasm again, her cunt milking the knot, bringing the wolf over the edge as well, the beast throwing its great head back and howling to the sky as it unloads its great quantities of cum directly inside her, the head of its cock nestled firmly against her cervix, the sensitive muscle getting bombarded with spurt after powerful spurt of thick wolf semen, slowly flooding her fertile womb. The weight of its release swirling inside her, held in by the pulsing knot, plugging her up so not a single drop is wasted. 

Stiles shivers through another orgasm, mind blissfully blank, and when she regains a little bit of brain power, she finds herself still stuck fast to the swollen knot plugging her cunt up, but the wolf is facing away from her, and she is on the grass in front of the rock, legs sprawled out under the canine form looming above her, but her waist is tilted up, the wolf practically sitting on her to make sure its cock is as deep as possible, the large furry balls resting on her prone body, and they throb slightly with every new load that gets pumped into her. 

Oh, shit, it’s breeding me. It’s making sure all its seed gets into my womb.

She whimpers and shudders through another small orgasm at the realization. Just before she goes under, the pleasure too great to stay conscious, the wolf turns its head to look at her and she swears its eyes flash crimson red, but her brain is too groggy to make anything of it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, looks like this is going to gain just a smidge of plot, because I can't help myself! I literally have so many ideas for Sterek and Steter fics that I actually started to write them and then abandoned them. That may not sound strange to you, but I HATE having unfinished works lol. I usually like to write a fic without leaving it. Like the document will be open on my computer for weeks and I will just write when I feel like it and then BAM finished work.  
> Anyway, not a whole lot of smut in this one, but there will be human smut for basically all of chapter three, which I am starting right now. If I was smart, I would wait and post chapter three and this chapter as one super big chapter, but I am a fool, a fool who craves validation and attention. Forgive me for my vices.

Stiles awakens to the horridly lewd sounds of her own desperate moans, her core burning pleasurably. She doesn’t open her eyes, not yet. The arousal pumping through her body muddles her senses, and she needs to sort through the first observations without any more distractions. 

The following moments prove to be very enlightening, and Stiles can make three solid statements; she is lying on a raised bed of what has to be moss from the texture and what she can smell, she is naked as the day she was born, scraps of her shirt and bra littered around her, and there is an absolutely wicked tongue slowly lapping at her folds and clit, the gentle, soothing motions even and constant, feeding the thrum of need clouding her mind.

The pressure around her thigh is what makes her snap her eyes open, head raising as fast as she dares, and she sucks in a breath at the sight that greets her. 

There is a great furry and clawed, well, hand on her thigh, urging her to hike it up over a very human looking shoulder on which rests the head of the wolf who took her in the woods. Now, Stiles has seen a werewolf shift before, and this is most definitely not that. Scott only lost his eyebrows and gained some sideburns, while this creature still looks to be mostly wolf. A wolf that she definitely had sex with. Oh. My. God.

The memories of what she did crash back into her, and her whole body clenches, raw walls of her used pussy rubbing wetly together, and she can feel the viscous cum locked up tight in her womb, the slightest shifting of her hips causing it to sway, churning the virile seed deep within her. 

A little bit of the pearly liquid leaks past her clenched cervix, and she can feel it slowly descend down her channel, and she stiffens her muscles feebly in an attempt to keep it inside her, but the wolf between her thighs lets out a quiet growl at the taste of the seed slipping out of her, cleaning it up as soon as it appears. 

It’s a struggle not to come immediately, but she manages, taking in more details about the creature and her surroundings. The wolf- which is looking decidedly less wolf-like than it was the last time she saw it, has taken on an almost humanoid appearance. Giant paws were replaced by human shaped hands, with five fingers, including a thumb, but the skin was covered in a fine coat of short fur, and where there is supposed to be finger nails are sharp talons, nearly triple the size of normal nails, and gleaming deadly in the faint light. Even its great head is a little different, the muzzle shorter, eyes bigger, but still the same captivating blue as before. She can’t see much else of its body, but it retained its tail, which is now reaching a steady wag as she continues to stare.

Her initial observation of the creature done, she takes quick stock of her surroundings. It looks like she is in a cave, the cavernous chamber sporting some very cliché stalagmites and stalactites, and the smooth rock walls practically dripping with condensation. There is one way out of the room, a tunnel that must lead directly to the outside, with the light from the sun illuminating the area. There are a couple carcasses scattered around the floor, picked clean and adding to the ‘monster den’ aesthetic. 

The most surprising detail she notices is the presence of another wolf, the hazel eyes locking with hers the moment she looks its way. This wolf is large too, actually looking larger than the one absorbed in slowly bringing her to an orgasmic death, lick by deliberate lick. 

The second wolf has a sleek black coat, different from the original wolves dark grey, and it looks anything but happy to see her in his space. If it had eyebrows, this wolf would be scowling so heavily at her, and she lets out a single strangled giggle in her delirium, earning her a harsher lick from the wolf currently feasting on her, and she glances at him in time to see his eyes flash red, and she gasps, body jerking in shock, dislodging his tongue.

Well, maybe not so un-werewolf like after all.

“Holy fucking shit! You’re a werewolf?!” She all but screeches, her head feeling light from the sudden influx of blood to her face. “Oh my god, I let some random werewolf in the woods take my virginity, what is wrong with me?!” Her breathing is picking up, knees curling to her chest as she wraps her arms around them, folding into herself. The position makes her acutely aware of her bloated womb, plugged full of creamy werewolf spunk, and the feeling of being so full almost pulls her out of the panic she is spiraling into.

Almost.

It’s then that she remembers that while she didn’t worry about getting pregnant from a wolf, and why was she okay with letting herself get fucked by a wild animal? That was never anything she ever thought she was remotely interested in. Anyway, she couldn’t conceive a litter of little wolf pups, but she could totally conceive a child from a fucking werewolf, and she was not on any form of birth control, plus she is at the most fertile phase of her life, and the alpha, oh god, he’s an alpha, knotted her up really well, keeping countless loads of delicious, burning seed plugged up deep inside her, the liquid so thick that it was going to take a hell of a lot of work to get it out of her womb.

There is something cold and wet nudging her left knee, and she flinches, the movement forcing a bit more of the creamy semen inside her to escape her crowded womb and trickle slowly down her cunt, the sensitive walls feeling every second of the descent. 

The sensation clears her mind a bit, and she is able to open her eyes a bit, and she finds herself face to face with the aloof black wolf, her eyes locking with theirs just as the alpha brings its tongue back into play, obscenely slurping up the leaking cum from her puffy hole.

She moves without thinking, arms wrapping around the neck of the closest wolf and she clenches her fingers into the soft fur at its back as she buries her face into the warmth of its chest, bringing her head up to rub under the wolfs chin. Said wolf makes the cutest whine/growly noise Stiles has ever heard in her life, and wastes no time in cuddling up to her, and if the wolf between her legs wasn’t dipping its tongue shallowly into her slick pussy she would have laughed at the hilarious change in temperament, the wolf obviously a cuddler, and was just posturing earlier when it looked like it was contemplating eating her.

A fang scrapes her inner thigh and she almost falls back onto the bed of moss that she is sitting in. Luckily for her, the black wolf had curled its body up around her head, and caught her weight effortlessly, slowly bringing her back down to lie on her back, the alpha happily slurping and slobbering all over her sensitive sex. The darker wolf huffs at the alpha, who flashes his red eyes and the two enter a stare down over her bare body. 

The black wolf lifts its head slightly, baring its neck in a slight sign of submission, and flashes its own electric blue eyes, the coloring making Stiles hump the air once, uselessly trying to find friction on her now unstimulated clit. 

The alpha has the nerve to huff in amusement at her wriggling, and Stiles bares her teeth in embarrassed petulance. He flashes his red eyes at her directly, but must forget that Stiles is human, and therefore immune to whatever werewolf hierarchy mojo went on moments earlier between him and his beta. That’s not to say it isn’t super fucking scary to have a giant man-shaped wolf monster glaring at you while its teeth are only about a foot away from biting off some very vital parts. 

No one ever accused her of having great survival instincts though. As soon as the beta had wrapped around her, she felt the scorching nudge of its erect member near her shoulder, and now she turns her head towards it, keeping up eye contact with the alpha as she seeks it out with her lips, the low, pained whine from the beta when her plush lips connect to the side of her target rather harshly making her wince a bit in apology. 

The alpha begins to snarl at the attention being paid to his inferior, and Stiles smirks at his ability to show comic outrage with such a canine face. She traces her lips up and down what parts of the length she can reach, eventually breaking eye contact with the alpha to draw the tapered tip shallowly into her mouth so that she could suckle the heady pre leaking like a faucet down the tapered length. 

The black wolf shuffles minutely closer, slowly bringing its body out from under her head so that she could more easily mouth at him. His movements jostle her hands that were previously buried in his fur, and she slips one of them down to hold firmly at the muscled hind leg of the werewolf, while the other wandered to the engorged cock she decided to service. 

She can blame it on the lust and pheromones right now, but she is really going to hate evaluating herself later when she thinks back on how easy it was for her to just jump into bed with not one, but two seemingly feral werewolves that found her in the middle of the forest. 

That is a later Stiles problem.

Right now, there is a healthy beta werewolf cock lightly thrusting in and out of her mouth, and she works to suckle every last drop of nectar from the organ, the liquid igniting something deep within her the more she swallows. It’s like a drug, she finds she simply can’t pull herself away from drinking whatever she can get. 

She regrets her decision to take her attention off of the alpha when said alpha plunges his tongue deep into her slick channel, causing her to cry out around the cock in her mouth, the widening of her jaw allowing the beta to accidentally slip deeper until the tip brushes against the back of her throat, and to avoid gagging, she relaxes her muscles, allowing both appendages ravaging her to slide deeper, and she has to fight to remain lax, and to not tense up at the pleasure from the unintentional double assault. 

The alpha purrs in pleasure, the rumble reverberating through its tongue, causing her to quake at the stimulation to her raw insides. She lets out a keen at the sensation of the rough muscle fighting its way as far back as it can, licking up any stray amounts of seed that didn’t leak out during his earlier assault. 

For the sake of survival, Stiles has to take her mouth off of the beta, needing to get some deep breaths in before she passes out, her head feeling fuzzy from arousal and lack of oxygen. The wolf in question whines at the loss of contact, and leans its head in to lick at her cheek, and she thought she would be grossed out more, but she feels the action to be more endearing than yucky. 

Yeah, something is definitely wrong with her. 

She turns her head and resorts back to small, kittenish licks of the beta’s cock, the alpha’s tongue distracting her too much to attempt to put it back in her mouth. She can feel herself climbing higher and higher, and her body clenches on the verge of orgasm when the alpha withdraws his tongue, causing her to cry out in outrage.

“No! Ugh, you asshole!” She cries, leaning her head back to rest on the flank of the werewolf curled around her. Her body twitches as the lack of stimulation brings her back down from her high, leaving her very irritated and unsatisfied. The alpha sits back on humanoid haunches, mouth split open in a grin, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. 

“Smug bastard,” Stiles grumbles, taking in what appears to be something between a beta shift and a full shift. The arms are too long, the legs more wolf than human, and his skin is covered head to toe in a fine layer of grey fur, which does NOT look soft, thank you very much, and she does NOT want to run her fingers through it. 

Well, maybe for scientific purposes.

Deciding she has nothing left to lose, Stiles slowly sits up, feeling the twin sets of eyes boring into her. She slips her legs under her, wincing at the tenderness of her knees a bit. Her eyes flick up and down the alpha’s body, and she is glad no one but her had the ability to talk, so no one could call her out for the desperate keen that escapes her throat at the hunger in the alpha’s eyes. 

She clears her throat, and takes a deep breath before speaking. “I can’t keep calling you alpha and beta, not if this is going to continue.” She is aware that she has jack shit in terms of power to negotiate right now, but she does know that werewolves have an innate urge to please their chosen mate, and given that she smells quite a lot like him and is stuffed full of his seed, she considers it safe to assume she is in a mate-like position right about now. 

Her gamble pays off, the alpha inching his way closer to her while trying to form words around his inhuman lips and teeth. “Eeeeherrrrr,” He snarls, getting stuck on the sounds, his tongue too large and mouth too long. He continues to shuffle closer while trying out sounds, but he makes sure to look at her when he makes the ‘e’ and ‘r’ sounds. 

Stiles determines this to be going nowhere, and instead, starts going through the alphabet, and when she gets to the letter ‘p’ the alpha yips once, and she smiles. “Alright, looks like we got the hang of this. Your name starts with a P? Pee-herrrr- oh! Peter! Peter?” She guesses, and by the excited growl and surprisingly gentle nuzzle to her neck, she hit the jackpot.

“Peter,” Stiles hums, bringing up a hand to pet the werewolf’s ears while he snuffles and snorts into her neck. “That’s a nice name.” She almost gets lost in the impromptu cuddle session, but snaps out of it when the warmth at her back retreats, the beta getting up and turning away as if to leave. Her hand shoots out without thinking, and her fingers bury in the thick hair on his side. 

“Hey, don’t go. I want to know your name too, dude.” She almost worries the wolf will leave anyway, maybe not as mentally cognizant as the alpha, but her worries were for naught as the wolf wastes no time in cuddling right back up against her and rests its big head on her unoccupied shoulder, closing his eyes in bliss when she scratches behind his ears with the hand previously buried in his side.

She does the same letter game as before and once she has ‘Der’ she guesses ‘Derek’ and her side is assaulted with the heavy wagging of his black tail accompanying another big lick up the side of her face. “Derek, dude, that’s gross,” She complains, buts her smile is so big that neither of them takes her whining seriously. 

She closes her eyes for a moment, just taking in the sensation of being cuddled by two giant werewolves before her situation catches up to her. 

She is naked, stuffed full of virile alpha werewolf sperm, somewhere in the California wilderness with two feral werewolves. Said werewolves pick up on her distress immediately, and start to whine in sympathetic distress, Derek giving her another wet lick up her face and Peter giving quick licks to her neck between nuzzles. She shushes them and continues to pet their soft fur, and Peter calms down almost instantly.

Derek, on the other hand, seems to become more and more agitated, eventually pulling away from her and snaps at her hand when she reaches out to him, earning him a very ominous growl from Peter. 

Derek doesn’t even act like he hears it, his big head swinging from side to side viciously, growling and whimpering intermittently. Peter moves to crouch in front of her, taking up a protective stance, but she still peaks out from behind him, and watches in horror as he flops to his side, heaving out pained whines as his body spasms. 

She moves to help, but Peter blocks her path, huffing out a big breath. Stiles is about to start panicking, but when Derek’s limbs start to contort, she stills. The sound of cracking bone and ripping skin is horrifying, but the sight of Derek’s body rearranging in the most painful shift she has ever seen captivates her, and she can’t look away. 

After what felt like hours, but was more likely just a few minutes, Derek’s spasms stop, and he stills, lying fully human in the giant bed of moss that makes up the middle of the cave. This time when she goes to him, Peter doesn’t stop her, just observes him, head cocked to the side in confusion and disbelief.

She can literally hear the fluid sloshing inside her as she half crawls, half walks over to Derek, and her face heats up at the lewdness of it, but she pushes it aside to check on Derek. Once she gets to him, she gently pushes him onto his back, bunching up some loose moss to stuff under his head for some support and extra comfort. 

Then she sits back and just…looks. Derek is gorgeous. Movie star level gorgeous, maybe even Adonis level gorgeous. He looks to be a little over six feet tall, maybe an inch or so taller than her gangly six foot tall self. His thick, black hair, heavy eyebrows, the dark stubble covering his sharp jaw, his nearly hairless chest covered in lean muscle, all topped by miles of smooth, tan skin. 

She gulps as her attention is brought to the thick course of hair that makes up his happy trail, leading her gaze further and further south. She will refute any mention of her making any noise when she finally looks at Derek’s dick. She does not whimper, whine, keen or make any noise what-so-ever. 

She will admit to drooling a little bit though. It’s her first time seeing a man naked in a sexual context, and c’mon, he’s hot. She can be forgiven for drooling a little bit, right?

A stuttering breath followed by a cough make her whip her gaze back to his face, which is scrunched up in a little bit of pain, his eyes screwed shut. Her heart squeezes painfully at his pain, something she is definitely going to analyze later, and she takes his larger hand between hers for comfort. 

There is a rather annoyed sounding huff behind her and when Derek shows no sign of waking any further, she turns around to find Peter sulking about five feet away, pointedly not looking at them.

Her lips curl in a grin at his pouting, likely jealous that he isn’t the center of attention. She calls out to him softly, and he is by her side in a flash, nose once again buried in her neck. 

“Peter, do you remember where you found me?” She asks, carding her free hand through the fur on the back of his head. At her question, he reluctantly pulls away from her neck and gives a slow nod. “Can you get my bag for me? I don’t want to leave Derek alone when he is weak like this, but if you don’t feel up to it, I can always go looking for it myself.” She asks innocently, trying to appeal to the side of the alpha that wants to provide for their mate. She laid it on a bit thick with the bit about Derek being weak, insinuating that he is the stronger one, and she can tell he knows this by the pointed stare, but he huffs one last breath into her neck before getting up and loping out of the cave, leaving Stiles to care for Derek. 

The light filtering in through the mouth of the cave is growing darker, and she doesn’t know how long she was out after Peter knotted her in the woods, or how far away the cave is from where she was taken, but she doesn’t feel trapped or caged in, and she has the feeling if she really wanted to leave, the pair would let her. 

After about half an hour, Stiles situates herself next to Derek on the moss bed, smoothing one of her hands over the heated skin of his side while resting her head over his heart, finding comfort in the steady beat. She is surprised at how little she cares about their nudity, but she justifies herself by thinking it isn’t as if she is going to try anything when Derek is passed out and in pain, so there is no real reason to be uncomfortable. If she were in Derek’s position, she would want someone to look over her as well, and she can’t remember the last time she actually cuddled with someone.

Derek’s skin is hot, but unless she rearranges them so that he is laying on top of her, then there will always be a part of her that is chilled by the rapidly cooling air of the cave. If Peter can find her bag, she thinks she has one of those emergency blankets tucked away in one of the pockets still, so neither of them freeze to death in the night, though judging by the weres body temperature, that will be more of a worry for Stiles than him.

Stiles doesn’t sleep while she waits for Peter, but she does let herself relax and enjoy the cuddles with one of the hottest men she has ever seen, and she really hopes he doesn’t get mad at her when he wakes. 

Her eyelids are starting to feel heavy by the time Peter meanders back in the cave, her bag dangling from one of his hands. He looks more human than the last time she saw him, no longer an eight foot tall, Skyrim-looking werewolf, and more like a super tall guy with a kickass werewolf cosplay that looks hyper-realistic. Not that she voices her thoughts.

She extracts herself from Derek, who lets out a sad noise at her retreat and walks over to Peter, flinching when she feels the copious amounts of cum leaking out of her and coating her thighs. She must have been leaking while she cuddled with Derek, and she can’t help but feel empty, even though she knows she still has a whole lot of cum still stored in her belly.

She dismisses her train of thought as Peter hands her the bag, and she beams at him, rising up on her tip toes to give him a kiss on one of his furry cheeks. She holds back a snort at his very human looking expression of pride and surprise, and she kind of wishes he were human, because she has a suspicion he would be blushing from her kiss. 

She grabs his clawed hand and leads him back to Derek, and as she settles down next to him, Peter gets comfortable on her other side, providing warmth for her naked skin. She scrounges around her bag, mindful of the small plant she took, and takes out her water bottle, an unopened emergency blanket, and her cell. 

Unsurprisingly, she has no service and the battery is almost dead, so she just turns it off and tucks it back away. Then she takes a couple of big gulps of water, Peter watching the movement of her bared throat with unabashed hunger. Once she has had her fill, she cradles Derek’s head, lifting it a bit before touching the bottle to his lips and letting a small trickle of water flood his mouth. She is relieved when he swallows a few sips with no problems and screws the lid back on, packing the bottle away. Lastly, after resituating Derek, she rips open her family sized emergency blanket, the chill of the night already creeping under her skin. 

Peter lets out a rumble as she tucks him under the foil with her and Derek, but ultimately plasters himself to her side with his face in her neck as she fits herself as close to Derek as possible. The events of the day are rapidly catching up with her, and the last thought she remembers having before falling asleep is that she wouldn’t mind being the filling of a werewolf sandwich every night. The resulting snort from Peter is probably just him snuffling at her neck again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I know I keep saying that there will only be one chapter, but I totally got distracted and wrote like, plot. My hornybrain was like "NO!" but my writerbrain was like "You gotta" and I indulged. But I will say with certainty that the next chapter will be filthy. You have my word, ye faithful few who encouraged me to continue.

The first thought that filters through Derek’s hazy mind is that he is overwarm, maybe even hot. He kind of wants to get away from it, but he can’t find a source, the heat is smothering him from all angles, and when he attempts to roll over, he finds his arms wrapped around a naked body. 

Panic and confusion well up from his chest, and he can hear his breathing quicken. He has arms? Human arms? A quick wiggle confirms that yes, he is fully human right now. His head cranes in every direction it can, and he seems to be in some sort of cave, early morning light filtering in through the entryway. 

Before he can take stock of much else, a fission of pure agony rips through his skull, and he cant help but cry out in pain, snatching his arms back from where they were wrapped around who he assumes to be a packmate, given their combined scent and the fact that his wolf didn’t want to rip them to shreds. 

The stifling heat surrounding him sticks to his skin like a physical force, and he thrashes, narrowly missing his bedmates head with his claws as he tries to break free. He squeezes his eyes shut, but bright orange and yellow flames plague his minds eye, and smoke chokes his lungs in a phantom attack. 

The screams echo in his ears, his packmates pain becoming his own as he desperately tries to break the mountain ash barrier that imprisons his home, and tears flow down his face as the shadows of his family in the windows begin to disappear, swallowed up by great plumes of flame and smoke. He can hear his name being called, hands on his shoulders, pulling him back, away from his home, his pack. The bonds in his chest begin to fray and snap, like old strings on a guitar.

All but two. 

He takes a deep breath, realizing that he had all but stopped breathing, and focused on the bonds. One was old but strong showing mended frays and pulsing with familiarity, reminding him of a cable wire, many feelings and memories making up the components of the whole, adding to the strength, and even if one wire were to break or be cut, the bond would stand strong. The bond to his alpha.

Feeling nothing but calm and worry from his alphas side of the bond, he begins to come back to his body, the sensation of new, breathable warmth around him, reminding him of the puppy piles he would partake in as a kid. Gentle hands sooth him, carding through his hair, wiping his tears, and running feather light up and down his side. 

The one touching him is the new bond, and the connection between them is more through his alpha than anything. He can feel the person reaching out to him, receptive and willing to form a bond with him. He relaxes, keeping his eyes closed and sorting through the memories that begin to flood back in after what must have been a while as a wolf. 

Derek heaves a shaky breath before he opens his eyes again. There is significantly more light in the cavern now, he must have woken up just as the sun was rising. The few stray beams that make it through the cave unhindered halo around the slim shoulders of a young female, shadowing her features from his adjusting eyes for the moment. 

The hands on him cease their movements as he slowly works to sit up, sparing a curious glance to the shiny scraps of material strewn about the mossy bed. The young woman follows his line of sight, and winces at the display. 

“Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t bring my Batman blanket, huh?” Her voice is lower than he expected, and has a slight rasp that sends pleasant tingles up his spine as he takes in her profile, his eyes having yet to fully adjust. He tries to make sense of what she said, but what does the shiny material have to do with Batman? 

Derek feels his brow furrow. Movement at his back distracts him from thinking about the possibility of having a stroke as a werewolf, however. Now his thoughts are directed towards protecting his almost-packmate from the monster arm that reaches over him. 

With a low growl he smacks the offending limb out of the air and moves into a crouch, putting himself in front of the girl and facing what looks to be some kind of fucked up werewolf wannabe. The grey fur and blue eyes are eerily familiar, but everything else about the thing in front of him is new. 

Derek keeps silent, not particularly intent on antagonizing the wolf man, as a quick sweep of his gaze shows large fangs and sharp claws, and Derek doesn’t like his chances if things turn flat out antagonistic, his own senses still coming back to him slowly. There is a sigh from behind him that sounds more amused than anything, but he ignores it in favor of taking a deep breath through his nose, trying to figure out if he can identify the thing in front of him by scent. 

The scent of sex reaches him first, pungent and heady. His head feels light for a moment and he lets out an almost inaudible whine as his blood rushes south to fill up his cock. His next inhale is of surprise at his visceral reaction, and then he picks up the calming and familiar scent of pack and family. 

A flash of red eyes from the creature in front of him precurses an awful grinding of bones as the alpha, his alpha, contorts in pain, falling to its side. 

What the fuck. Derek is left dizzy again as that little display kills his boner, and he thinks he sees spots in his vision at the exclaimed, “Peter!” from behind him as the girl rushes out to comfort the wolf man, Peter, his alpha and his fucking uncle. 

Distress and pain filter through his olfactory senses and Derek reaches out a hand to tentatively rest on the shoulder of the girl, who’s name he really needs to get, because ‘girl’ and ‘young lady’ are too vague for his scrambled mind right now. 

“Hey,” Derek’s voice is rough from disuse, and he sounds like he has one of the human illnesses, like the plague or something. He coughs a couple times to clear his throat and ends up in a coughing fit like a fucking dork, and nearly bursts into tears again in frustration. 

This is too much at once and Derek fights the waves of panic beating at the edges of his consciousness. 

Stiles is having a bit of a rough morning. Waking up to a disoriented werewolf with some obvious PTSD symptoms on top of being majorly disoriented herself is probably the leading cause, and it is not helped by Peter, who has been useless except for saving her from Derek’s panicked flailing.

She is the only one allowed to flail in panic. New rule. No one with claws or super strength is allowed to flail. 

Trying to stay alive has been goal number one this morning, and so far, she is doing pretty well. Once Derek finishes his epic battle with her blanket, he curls up into himself and starts whimpering and, in typical Stiles fashion, she finds herself trying to cuddle the werewolf better. The feral werewolf. The one who, just moments ago, was slicing her blanket up like he was making confetti. 

To be fair, she hasn’t had any coffee, and doesn’t see a Starbucks run in her near future.

She manages to calm him down, or Derek finally gets a hold on himself, and Stiles thinks that maybe they can talk things out now. Foolish Stiles, thinking that the universe would let her morning be anything other than a chaotic clusterfuck. 

Derek must be really disoriented not to recognize his own alpha, which cements her theory about Peter discovering a new phase of werewolf shifting. When his back goes ridged, Stiles assumes Derek is going to attack, but nothing happens. Then Peter had to go and make one of the most disturbing sounds ever and just about fucking keels over.

He doesn’t respond to her voice, but his breathing is even, and he just appears to be in some sort of deep sleep. Luckily, she doesn’t relax, knowing something else is probably going to happen, and nearly laughs when Derek starts coughing up a lung after trying to talk for the first time.

She wordlessly hands him the water bottle, and watches wistfully as he gulps the rest of the liquid down, already worrying about how to get more. Some cosmic being must take pity on her, because she can feel her latent OCD kicking in, and starts compartmentalizing. 

She sits Indian style and winces at the tacky feeling between her legs, opting for the cool mermaid look instead, and Derek definitely notices but thankfully doesn’t mention it. She clears her throat and starts petting the fur on Peters neck to give her hands something to do.

“So, uh, I know you’ve had a rough morning, and are probably very confused right now, but rest assured, I am just as lost as you.” Shit. Fuck. That was not what she meant to say. “I mean, uh, I’m Stiles, nice to meet you, Derek.” She holds out one of her hands awkwardly and watches as Derek stares at it like it’s a sphinx giving him a particularly difficult riddle.

Derek is very ready to go back to bed. He would prefer his bed at home, but apparently home doesn’t exist anymore, and nope, not going to think about that. Putting that in a box to think about never, thank you very much. 

Stiles sticks out a gangly arm, movements unsure and twitchy, but the moment she stops fidgeting, he takes the time to finally look at her. She is naked, not uncommon with weres, but her scent is fully human, aside from the dried cum he saw caking her groin and thighs before she thought better of sitting fully exposed. 

The slight glimpse was enough to make him uncomfortably flushed, and he was able to tamp down his reaction when she started talking, but now that he drinks his fill of her creamy skin smattered with dirt and her leans muscles shifting with every small movement, he can feel his cock twitch. 

His wolf howls in protest when he denies it the act of laying claim on her right here and now, which confuses him. The elegant arch of her long legs leads way to a flat tummy that he can just imagine swelling with his pups, and decently sized breasts topped with pert, pink nipples the size of quarters, and saliva fills his mouth at the thought of tasting them-

“Hey, jackass, my eyes are up here.” Derek feels his heart stutter at the realization that he had been staring at her chest silently for an impolite amount of time, and is glad that his uncle is out cold, not willing to be teased to death for his lack of manners. 

He tears his eyes away from the tempting swell of her breasts, past her prominent collarbones, just begging to be adorned in his hickies and bitemarks, up the slender column of her throat and finally lands on her face, deciding that the trying journey up her body was certainly worth the destination.

Oh for the love of, that sounds like something Peter would say to a hotel receptionist to get a better room or something. His ears heat and Derek is so glad that he rarely talks, so the odds of him blurting out something embarrassing are slim to none. 

He refocuses on her face, the honey colored doe eyes, the small, upturned nose that he is dying to nuzzle with his own, the pouty lips swollen from worrying, all framed by snarled, shoulder length, dark brown hair. She looks wild, untamed, innocent and so, incomprehensibly perfect.

She blushes scarlet, the color flashing to life instantly and it spans from the crown of her head to the top of her breasts, and Derek may have underestimated his ability not to embarrass himself. Here he is, a practically feral werewolf, with an awkward boner and he has probably traumatized this poor girl for life. 

He feels himself flush red, not as prominent as the color Stiles flaunts, but still pretty noticeable. They both sputter and look away from each other and Derek is suddenly struck by how overwhelming the past hour has been, and he thinks up the best idea he has possibly ever had.

He gets up, not so sudden as to scare Stiles, but also not wasting any time. He feels her eyes on him as he walks around Peters prone, strange form and lays down, hip touching his alphas side in support and giving Derek a physical connection to the familiar among the weird his life has become. 

His new position places him directly behind Stiles, giving her privacy and the illusion of space, which he thought would help distract her form his poor social skills, which did not miraculously develop as he spent an undisclosed time as a wolf. 

He brings his arms up to rest the back of his head on, closing his eyes and trying to think about the events of the morning, and how best to repress his feelings about just about everything. 

Stiles is still riding the high of Derek finding her dirty state captivating enough to blatantly stare at her boobs and then call her perfect, even after seeing her rat nest of a hairdo. She can hear him settle behind her, and a quick glance shows him sprawled out like a fucking supermodel, looking like he is settling down on a blanket for a day at the beach and not waking up from who knows how long as a full shift werewolf. Denial and repression may be his preferred coping mechanisms, but Stiles was not going to be the only one thinking responsibly today, and she is more than willing to take Derek down with her.

So she lowers herself down to rest her head on the closest unfairly plump pec available to her. “If you think I am letting you fall back asleep after the Event that was this morning, you are sorely mistaken, dude.” She opts not to look at him, training her gaze to the high ceiling of the cave instead, and sighs as Peter moves his head to rest over her stomach, snuffling happily in his sleep as she scratches behind his ears.

Derek remains silent, but doesn’t shove her away, so she counts it as a win. “Silent type, that’s cool. I can talk for five people, so no problems here. Unfortunately, as much as I hate to admit it, I don’t think going back to sleep is going to magically fix anything.” 

Her attempt at humor is met with a silent laugh, Derek’s chest moving under her. She feels pride welling up inside her at making him laugh, even this tiny bit. “Trust me, dude. I really want to go back to sleep and just overwrite this morning. Try again in an hour. Maybe two, these are trying times, after all.”

Even his snorts of laughter are cute, fuck this guy. No one has a right to be this perfect. His breathing evens out eventually and after a minute he speaks up. 

“Don’t call me dude.” The monotone voice startles an ugly snort out of her and she squeaks in surprise as an unfairly muscled arm wraps under her breasts to rest high on her hip near Peters head. The coarse hairs tickle the sensitive flesh under her boobs and she shivers at the sensation. 

“If you think you can get out of this conversation by cuddles you are so right.” Stiles sighs, settling further into the embrace of her own personal Tarzan, and she kind of wishes she didn’t know Derek’s name so she could have called him Tarzan. 

Lost potential. 

Stiles didn’t think it was possible, but waking up the second time that morning is infinitely worse than it was earlier. Her head is pounding, and her muscles are sore. She tries to stretch but the cold bite of metal to her skin prevents her from moving too much. 

Being the Sheriff’s daughter, and a curious person in general, she would like to say that she is fairly familiar with the feeling of handcuffs. The familiarity does little to calm her when she is the one being restrained by them, but hey, she will take what she can get. 

Opening her eyes hurts like hell, the light burning her retinas, and she groans at the pain. Her attempt to roll over is thwarted by whatever she is cuffed to, and she almost ends up with a dislocated shoulder. 

“Goodie, she’s awake.” A chill goes down Stiles still naked form, and she braces herself for the pain when she forces herself to open her eyes again. 

A woman with blonde hair and a very unsettling smile is grinning down at her, and Stiles feels her heartbeat stutter in fear. 

She knows that fucking face. 

Kate Argent straightens up and walks over to a dilapidated old chair, straddling it and draping her arms over the back, never taking her eyes off of her prey. 

The Argents were a well known family of hunters, who, by their own power, decided that they would rid the world of all supernatural beings, starting with the small, Californian town of Beacon Hills. Most of the family were unhinged serial killers, including one Kate Argent, the psychopathic sister of Chis. She took it upon herself to take out the Hale pack, an old and well respected pack that had protected Beacon Hills for generations. 

Because they were so obviously a threat. Yeah, never let it be said that the Argents were smart. 

Devious, cunning, ruthless, and deranged? Yeah, the Argents had those traits down to a T. Kate took a bunch of her cousins and surrounded the house with mountain ash, then threw Molotov cocktails through the windows until the whole structure was up in flames. It was thought that there were no survivors, but the bodies were all reduced to ash, so no ID’s could be made on the number of casualties. 

It was around that time that Scott got bitten, but he managed to chase away the feral alpha and ended up becoming an alpha of his own free will, a rare occurrence, but not unwelcome. Although, the craziness of a high school asthmatic nobody developing abs and coordination over the summer was bound to bring some attention. Scott did manage to do something right in his past life though, because if he hadn’t wooed Allison, they would probably all be in the ground by now. 

Chris and Allison were the only sane members of the family, and even sunny little Allison was turned for a while there, after her grandfather convinced her that Scott killed her mom. Which, he didn’t, but that’s why they call it manipulation. Victoria was shot by Deputy Parrish, after she tried to murder Scott with wolfsbane through an air diffuser. If Scott would have manned up and told his girlfriend what happened, things probably would have gone differently, but whatever. 

Stiles and her dad worked for days with minimal sleep to compile enough legal evidence to lock away grandpa Argent and Kate for life. Turns out the jury doesn’t care if the people you murdered were werewolves. Killing another person is killing another person, and when it was brought to life that there were children in the fire? It was a hard bargain for the top lawyers to get their clients out of the death penalty. Even with the eventual insanity pleas. 

They had a whole coverup plan, and they denied doing it at all when they were first arrested, so no jury with half a mind was going to send them to some institution where they had a possibility of getting out one day. Everyone knows that a premeditated plan means that the crime was thought out, not an act of insanity.

Now Kate and Gerard Argent were rotting away in some maximum security prison for the remainder of their lives, and Chris and Allison were left to pick up the pieces and even though they had nothing to do with the horrors their family committed, and even spoke against them in court, there are many in the community who are displeased with the fact that the father and daughter decided to stay. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be rocking an orange jumpsuit in a deep, dark hole somewhere?” Stiles can’t exactly brag about her survival instincts on a good day, and this is the second time in the same 24 hours that she has woken up without coffee, so she can’t really be blamed for her actions.

Instead of getting mad, Kate just gives another creepy smile and asks a question of her own. “Aren’t you supposed to dislike getting mounted like a bitch by a wild animal?” Ok, low blow bitch. 

Stiles blows a strand of hair out of her eyes so Kate can get the full effect of her exaggerated eyeroll. “That’s the best you could come up with? I have taken better passive-aggressive insults from kindergarteners. Step up your game, bitch.” Stiles doesn’t even bother to see how her words affected Kate, choosing to take a page out of Derek’s book and go back to sleep to try waking up again. Maybe there will be coffee next time. Third time’s a charm, right?

A swift kick in the ribs dashes her dreams about the sweet nectar of caffeine, and she lets out a wheezing cough of agony. “Shit, nonverbal already? That wasn’t even my best comeback.” Stiles allows herself to revel in the outrage written all over Kates scrunched up face as she takes another blow to her side. 

Not even five minutes of interaction and Stiles has this bitch all figured out. Classic case of attention whore. Her proof? The likely cracked ribs and heavy bruising of her skin that she received as a result of ignoring her and not rising to the bait she tangled so enticingly in front of her. 

Stiles may be the one bound and naked on the floor, but Kate is the only one exposed right now, and from the way she throws the chair she was using against the wall, she knows it. Stiles has little time to bathe in her victory, black spots blinking in the corners of her eyes. She is pretty sure she mutters a fairly slurred ‘Oh shit’ before zoinking out again, but she can’t be certain.

The heavenly smell of coffee heralds Stiles third return to the conscious world, and she can almost fool herself that she dreamed the whole Kate Argent thing up, except for the fact that she can still feel the ache in her torso and Kate’s voice is droning on about the great purge she is going to bring about and how werewolves are a blight to humanity and all that other supremacist stuff Stiles expects her to spout. 

Stiles cracks one eye open, allowing herself to get used to the light before she takes stock of her surroundings. She is in a spacious room, or what used to be a room. The walls are blackened and peeling, and the stench of charred wood permeates the damp air. 

So a basement. Of a burned out house. Now, wherever could she be? Of all the burned out basements in California, where would Kate Argent take a hostage?

Stiles doesn’t think she can ever remember being this angry before. She is tired, she is sore, she is worried about Scott, and if he is all right, about her Dad, who is probably worried sick about the fact that she has been missing for over twenty four hours now. She is worried about Derek and his obvious PTSD, and about Peter who is probably trapped in his basterdized Hollywood werewolf form.

When Kate finally turns around and Stiles sees her sipping some instant coffee shit from a fucking plastic straw? That’s when all hell breaks loose.

Bright white flames begin to radiate from her skin, and Stiles can feel her body heating up, like the fire is consuming her, but she isn’t afraid. The fire doesn’t hurt her, it curls around her almost possessively, protecting her. The cuffs on her wrists tear like wet paper against her skin when she pulls at them, and as she slowly gets to her feet, she can feel the pains of all her injuries fading away, like they were just some blemish to be burned away.

Stiles never takes her eyes off Kate, who has gradually gone pale at the sight before her. Each step Stiles takes towards her is a step Kate stumbles back, until Kate finally turns tail and flees into the adjacent room. Stiles doesn’t speed her steps, sure of her victory. 

She stops in the doorway to the side room, flames dwindling and sputtering at the sight before her. 

Derek is strung up in the middle of the room, wrists, torso and ankles tied to a wall of chain link fence connected to what appears to be a backup generator. The machine is humming with power and Stiles can almost feel the electricity being pumped through the fence and into Derek. He is barely conscious, covered in black, oozing wounds that wont close. 

Movement in the corner of her eye draws Stiles gaze to Kate, where the woman hold the limp form of a man in her arms, a wicked looking blade pressed hard enough to his neck to draw a frightening amount of blood.

“One more step and the alpha gets it, freak.” Kate snarls at her. 

Fear, heavy and sharp, settles into her gut, the last of the sputtering flames dying out beneath her skin. “Alpha?” She whispers. The man in Kates grasp looks to be no older than thirty, his dark blonde hair a mess, falling over his face, obscuring it from her view. He isn’t as muscled as Derek, but he certainly isn’t slacking either. He looks like he might be a couple inches shorter than Derek too, but its hard to tell when he is unconscious and slumped in the arms of a psychotic lady intent on eradicating his kind.

The absence of the fire leaves her cold. Her skin feels fragile and delicate, and she swears she hears the cracking of ice when she moves, can almost see the cold fog of ice dripping from her outstretched arm as she croaks, “Peter?”

Crimson eyes blink open and squint at her from beneath sandy hair. “Stiles,” His throat leaks more blood as he speaks, the knife cutting deeper as he forms the words. “Run.”

Fury, scorching and painful, rises up from deep in her chest, different from the anger she felt earlier. Steam bursts from her pores as any trace of chill on her skin is chased away by the incandescent flames now lapping at the charred doorframe in which she stands. 

If she weren’t so singly and wholly focused on Kate, perhaps Stiles would have noticed how the flames merely danced along the surface of the damaged wooden frame, not even so much as warming the charred wood she clenched so fiercely. 

For the most part the flames stayed on her person, her feet not even leaving scorch marks as she made her way towards Kate, stopping only when she was in reach of Derek. He is still unconscious, wounds oozing that black substance at a sluggish rate. 

One touch of her hand to the generator melts the device so utterly and completely that she leaves just a pile of liquidized plastic and metal in seconds. The low thrum of electricity dies out, and Derek’s body spasms as he takes in a huge breath, fighting his way to consciousness. 

His head hangs limply, shallow pants wracking his body as he fights through the haze of pain. Stiles gently cups his face in her hand, the shining flames seamlessly flowing from her skin to his, and Derek shudders in fear at the sight of flames licking up his body, only to hiss as the tar-like substance is gently and painlessly burned out of his wounds one by one, and within moments the flames recede back to Stiles, leaving Derek fully healed, clean and clear headed. 

As soon as Derek is taken care of, Stiles sets her sights back on Kate and Peter, who both continue to gape at her in awe as she closes the remaining distance with slow, deliberate steps.

As soon as Stiles is in touching range of the two, the flames from her skin blaze brighter, and just being in proximity to them is enough for Peter to start regaining some of his strength, allowing him to slip out of Kates hold almost effortlessly. 

Kate makes the mistake of trying to grab Peter as he gets away, and Stiles grabs her wrist in an iron grip, the flames making their journey from Stiles to their target far more slowly then they did with Derek. Kate shrieks in agony as the fire burns her from the inside out, boiling the blood in her veins as it works its way up her arm. 

“The flames have cast their judgment, Katherine Argent.” Stiles experiences an out of body moment when the flames themselves take up residence within her to speak through her. “Burn for your sins.”

The sudden silence that falls over the trio when the flames reach Kates heart is shocking, and Stiles seems to come back to herself, yanking her hand away from Kate as the fire flows fully into Kate, burning both her and itself into nothing but a fine ash. 

The loud screech and groan of metal from Derek’s direction signals the young mans liberation from his torture rack, but Stiles is a bit busy having a crisis to pay it any mind. 

“Holy motherfucking shit.” She says to no one in particular. “This has been the worst morning I have ever had.” She looks to both Peter and Derek, who are probably going through their own personal shit right now, but seem to be hyper focused on her.

“I just burned a serial killer to death with sentient magic fire.” She reiterates when they continue to stare at her in heavy silence. She waits for the inevitable drain of energy that comes with using magic, but, if anything, she feels even more energized. 

The three of them continue to stare at each other in silence, almost like they are waiting for the other shoe to drop. Stiles takes this time to catalogue her wolves. Derek looks like he just stepped off some kind of porn shoot and not a literal redneck torture rack, and it is more of a chore than she is willing to admit to keep her eyes above his perfectly toned abs.

Peter looks a little worse off then Derek, given that the Magical Fire of Power and Wisdom or whatever didn’t overcome him like it did her and Derek. It did pass over him though, burning away all the dirt and grime that had caked his skin, and even his hair looked cleaner and slightly fluffier. His alpha healing has long since kicked in too, and the wicked knife wound on his neck is nothing more than a faded pink line that will likely fade in the next minute or so anyway. 

She takes stock of the rest of him, pleased to note that he seems to be free of any other injuries, which leaves her a few seconds of time to straight up stare. Now that he stands before her on his own, it is clear that he is maybe an inch or a half shorter than her, but every other aspect of him compared to her is just… more. Broader shoulders and chest, larger muscles that aren’t as defined as Derek’s but still exude an aura of ‘don’t fuck with me’ that really does something for Stiles. 

Her gaze travels up, past his delicious stubble and smirking lips to get trapped in his cornflower blue eyes, and after a moment they flash scarlet, and his smirk turns into a grin at her little breathless gasp. 

“All right, well.” Stiles claps her hands, and its like a spell is broken, the tension between the three of them melting away. “I have no idea where the fuck we are, and I doubt Kate had the decency to nab my bag with the GPS locater, so let’s make that focus number one.” 

Both men are staring at her chest when they let out little hums of acknowledgment. Stiles crosses her arms over her breasts and Derek is the only one to look ashamed at being caught staring, averting his face with flaming cheeks. Peter just meets her gaze and licks his lips, throwing in a wink for good measure. 

“Okay then. Clothes will be priority number one, thanks to Peter and the creepy wink.” Both wolves look crestfallen at her announcement, Derek going as far as to shoot his alpha a dirty look. 

Before any type of scuffle can break out, both men cock their heads a bit to the side in perfect sync. “Whoa, what?” Stiles starts to ask before Peter interrupts her. 

“Tires on gravel. Someone is coming up the driveway.” He shares a look with Derek and the two flash their eyes at each other before Derek turns to walk out of the room. 

Without thinking, Stiles snakes her arm out and grabs Derek by the arm. “Yeah, I don’t think so. No splitting up.” Just the thought of losing one of them is enough to inspire fear in her, and with her luck, fear has a smell, and she must be reeking of it. 

“Hey,” Peters hand curls over her own as he gently eases her grip on his beta. “Derek is just going to take a quick look, he will be right back. It’s ok, sweetheart.” He transfers her hands into his own and she turns her attention to him. He smiles and its not like the smirk he had earlier, this smile is reassuring and warm, comforting her almost instantly. 

She doesn’t even realize she’s been distracted until Derek returns to the room. “It’s a police car, just one officer. The sheriff.” The words are barely out of his mouth before Stiles is racing up the charred and unstable looking stairs to make her way to the door.

The two men are so surprised at the sudden movement that they don’t catch up to her until she reaches the front door, which is wrenched open from the outside to reveal the sheriff. 

“Dad!” Stiles cries, throwing herself at the man who catches her with one arm while leveling his gun at them with the other. Both alpha and beta stop in their tracks and slowly put their hands in the air. 

“Stiles,” The sheriff says stiffly. “You have been missing for over twenty four hours. Why am I finding you, naked, at the Hale house with two equally naked men?” There is an undercurrent of fear in his voice, only perceivable to werewolves that means the sheriff is already imagining the worst. 

Stiles jumps back like she was burned, trying to cover herself in vain. “Oh! Oh my god, it’s not what it looks like, its actually much worse,” The sound of the safety coming off of the sheriffs weapon makes her jump a bit. 

“NO! No, dad, it- that’s not what I meant, Derek and Peter are just as much victims as me.” This is not getting anywhere. Stiles is floundering, refusing to look anyone in the eye and shifting from foot to foot. 

“We were kidnapped by Kate Argent.” Peter spits out, even speaking her name brings a sour taste to his mouth. Derek flinches minutely at the name.

Letting out a long suffering sigh, the Sherriff puts the safety back on his weapon and lowers it, not quite ready to put it away just yet. “Jesus, she was really stupid enough to come back here?” He mumbles more to himself and then speaks up, “I got blankets in the car, I am not taking anyone’s statement until all junk is covered.” He spins on his heel and stomps back to the cruiser.

Once the blankets are on, everyone piles into the car, Stiles choosing to sit in the back between Derek and Peter. Derek lets her rest her head on his broad shoulder while Peter keeps one of his warm hands on her knee, neither of which go unnoticed by her dad. 

The Sherriff starts the car, but makes no move to put it in drive, instead, he makes eye contact with all three of them through his rearview mirror. “Alright. We are going to start with names. Then you are going to explain what the hell is going on.” They nod in acceptance, which earns them a gruff, “good.”

“My name is Peter Hale, and this is my nephew, Derek Hale.” Peter starts, and then Stiles and the Sherriff start yelling. 

“No fucking way! You guys are Hales? I thought all the Hales died in the fire!” Stiles exclaims, sitting upright, head swiveling to look at each of them in turn, while the Sherriff lets out a grunt of surprise and says, “Well I’ll be damned- Stiles!” Which gets swallowed up by Stiles rambling. 

“Stiles!” Her dad yells, causing her to fall silent. “Keep quiet, I have a few questions for the Hales-off the books.” Most of the force under her father were trustworthy, and knew the existence of the supernatural, but reports still had to be falsified, there was no way for information to stay contained if they weren’t. Her dad needed to know the full story so he knew what excuses to make up. 

At Stiles nod, Peter continues, and as he speaks, Stiles tangles her fingers with his in a show of support, doing to the same for Derek. “I imagine you want to know where we were? To tell you the truth, I don’t quite know. The Hales are an old bloodline of werewolves, and some in our family are able to achieve the full shift, Derek and I among them.

“Normally, we can fully control what we do while shifted, and be able to recall it when we shift back. Unfortunately, Derek and I stayed shifted out of trauma and nessessity, for healing, for quite some time, and I think we eventually lost ourselves to instinct.” At the mention of losing himself, Peter scrunches up his nose in distaste, the skin between his eyebrows creasing. 

Unable to help herself, Stiles pokes at the crease, willing it to go away. Peter starts a bit, but looks at her fondly, squeezing her hand in thanks. “The first thing I remember from my time as a wolf was finding Stiles about two days ago. We… bonded, and I brought her back to the den to meet Derek. Just being with Stiles was enough to remind me of my humanity, and I was hoping her presence would do the same for Derek.” Stiles is thankful for Peter for glossing over the sexy parts. Not something her dad needs to know. 

“So you kidnapped my daughter.” The Sherriff grits out and even Stiles will admit, he kind of did. 

“Well, yeah, but once I figured out they were werewolves, I wanted to help.” Stiles offers, being just vague enough while still telling him what he wants to know. “Derek turned back to human only a couple hours later! Then Peter did too!” 

Shaking his head, her dad sighs, the third or fourth big huff in as many minutes. “Alright, so they just needed to see a human to remember that part of themselves? And where does Kate come in?”

Derek chooses to speak up for the first time. “Shifting, especially when you haven’t done it in a while, takes a lot out of you,” He explains. “Having Stiles there helped us remember our humanity, but we still needed to rest up before we could even move or talk. So we were sleeping when- um.” He cuts himself off, and looks down at the hand twined with Stiles’.

Peter easily picks up where Derek left off. “Kate found us while we were sleeping, I don’t know how. She took advantage of our weakened state and captured us, bringing us here. She mostly left me alone, but she tortured Derek for hours.” His voice was thick with guilt and pain, and Stiles thought that Derek might have been the one getting hurt physically, but making Peter watch his packmate and family go through that was a different kind of torment.

The Sheriff is looking at them expectantly, his eyebrows practically saying “Well?”

“Then Stiles saved us.” Derek quips, inching closer to her in a manner that was probably meant to be subtle, but he ended up rocking the car as he redistributed his weight. Three pairs of eyes landed on Stiles, and she realized they were waiting for her to explain what happened.

“Ah, I was, uh.” She starts eloquently. “Kate came in to feel me out when I woke up, but I haven’t had my coffee yet, so I kinda, might have been a little bit, um, sassy?” She tries, and her dad levels her with his best ‘disappointed in you’ look. “Which, yeah, might not have been the best course of action, and ok, she did kick me around a little bit, BUT,” She raises her voice, ready to talk over her dad who has his mouth open as if to reprimand her and sooth her at the same time.

“But, when I came around again, she was drinking coffee. Hot coffee, might I add, very important detail. Anyway, she was drinking hot coffee…through a straw.” The men surrounding her give her blank looks, like that was supposed to mean something to them. 

“Guys, she was drinking coffee through a straw.” Stiles emphasizes. “Not iced coffee, which is an abomination in and of itself, but hot coffee. With a straw.” 

Derek, bless his heart, is the first to speak up. “That’s weird.” He intones, but it’s enough to work with.

“I KNOW! So it kind of set me off, and then there was this fire that kind of came out of my skin? It didn’t hurt, but it like healed me from the inside out, and burned away all the dirt and ick from the past day or two and then my chains melted off and I started walking towards her and she ran. 

“When I followed her, I saw Derek and Peter, and I already kinda boned, BONDED, not boned,” She corrects herself, talking quickly so no one could interrupt her. “with them so, I went to Derek first because he was the closest, and the fire jumped to him and did the same thing it did to me before it came back to me and then I went to Peter, who Kate was holding hostage, and the fire jumped to him but, in like a lesser way, only healing him a little and cleaning him up.”

She takes a deep breath, but holds up her hand to show that she is still talking and not to interrupt her. “Then when he gets away from Kate, the fire jumps to her, and instead of helping, it starts to burn her, and then I talk, but its not me. It’s the fire, talking through me. It said something along the lines of ‘You are bad, burn’ and then it doesn’t jump back to me it just burns Kate to a pile of ash and kinda snuffs itself out.”

The three men around her take a moment to digest the word vomit she just threw at them. Her dad, being mostly immune to her penchant for rambling and long explanations, asks, “So there is no body?” She just shakes her head, unsure what other words will come out if she opens her mouth. He seems grateful, face relaxing minutely. “And your clothes?”

“Burned off.”

“Kate took them.”

“They were shredded.”

All three of them answer at the same time, and her dad just heaves another sigh, putting the car into drive and heading to the station.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, this is it. Sorry for the truly atrocious wait, I have had a few depressive episodes but I am back on my bullshit, and ready to write some werewolf boyfriends.

It’s been a hectic couple days, what with Stiles going missing and the escape of Kate Argent and the mysterious return of the Hales. It certainly made for one hell of a day spent at the station, and a whole lot of illegal fudging of information.

Needless to say, she was ready to pass the fuck out in a real bed with the two equally tired, smoking hot werewolves that had apparently weaseled their way into her house for a couple days, Peter citing the fact that he and Derek had ‘no home anymore, and nowhere to go’ which her dad, in front of an entire police station full of his subordinates, had reluctantly invited them to stay with him until they were able to access their frozen accounts and hefty insurance pay out. 

Stiles unlocks her front door and practically runs to her room, dramatically taking a flying leap onto her mattress, arms spread wide. “Oh, how I missed you my sweet, sweet bed,” Stiles croons, completely oblivious to her best friend Scott, who had been waiting for her in her desk chair, and was now standing between her and the Hales, who chose to follow Stiles at a slightly slower pace. 

The triple outburst of snarls and growls tipped her off pretty quickly though, and she flailed on her Star Wars bedspread with a yelp of “HOLY JESUS SCOTT,” nearly braining herself on her desk in her rush to get between them. “Don’t shoot! Stand down!”

Derek, who is Stiles favorite right now, stands down immediately, claws retreating and eyes dulling. Peter and Scott, however, continue their staring match, although she notes that the growls are not as loud as before. 

Letting out a big sigh, Stiles angles herself so that she is facing the both of them. “All right, I am not going to claim to understand what is going on here, but there is no need to get all worked up. Scott, this is Peter and Derek Hale, as in the big Hale… incident.” She staggers, knowing how using the word ‘fire’ seems like a trigger to the men. Before Scott can reply she continues. “Peter, Derek, this is my bro for life, brother from another mother, Scott, and he is going to STAND DOWN before I start throwing things.” She hardens her voice, drawing from what Deaton had said to do when trying to regain attention from two feuding alphas.

It seems to work, both parties relaxing minutely, growls tapering off. “Scott, my buddy, my dude, is there any possible way we can have this conversation after my well-deserved, preferably thirty hour nap?” She pleads, feeling the dryness in her eyes that makes her strain to keep her eyes open. 

The slight whine in her voice was unintentional, but ultimately works in her benefit, as Scott immediately goes into worried friend mode. “Sorry Stiles,” He admonishes, going from snarling beast to kicked puppy in point five seconds. “I just needed to see if you were really okay. Your dad called me and filled me in, but I couldn’t get into the station because of all the reporters.” 

Yet another consequence of turning up five years after the world thought you burned to death with the rest of your family, Derek and Peter were hardly at the station for twenty minutes before the first nosy journalist had muscled their way through the doors and tried to get their own personal interview with the miracle men (Stiles coined this phrase, and although both Derek and Peter hate it with a passion, she just knows it will catch on). 

She lets out a breath and slings an arm over his shoulder, noting the tensing of Peter and Derek in her doorway, but the two men didn’t react further to her touching of Scott as she led him to the front door. “My bad, Scottie, I should have called you earlier, but it has been such a crazy day, and frankly, I am ready to crash.” 

Scott, bless his generous and giving heart, notes the presence of Derek and Peter behind her. “I don’t know exactly what went down, but the Sheriff told me you helped Stiles, so thank you.” The gratitude, despite being given not five minutes after a posturing battle or whatever was going on between the alphas, is genuine, and Derek and Peter are shocked for a moment at its authenticity. Peter recovers first, and gives a little nod, while Derek subtly shifts closer to Stiles, seemly unaware of doing so. 

“I also know that you guys are out of a home right now, so if you need a place to stay-” And, too much Scottie. Learn to read a room. “Well, Scott, I will see you later.” Stiles interrupts, almost pushing her well intentioned best friend onto her porch. “Tell Melissa I said hi!” She throws out before closing the door gently in his face, his mouth open like he was going to argue.

She steps forward into her two wolves and they don’t miss a beat, wrapping their arms around her and leading her back to her room. She falls back onto her bed, her weight warping the Luke Skywalker print on her comforter. She wiggles around, trying to get comfortable, looking back at the Hale men poised at the foot of her bed, looking like they’re struggling to hold themselves back.

Her heart sinks and she sheepishly lowers her head. “Oh, uh, sorry, I can show you guys to the guest room, I just thought you might,” Her thought doesn’t get voiced as she gets bodily squished between the two smoking hot werewolves that pounce on her. 

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Peter rumbles from her back, rubbing his face along the back of her neck to cover her with his scent. “We didn’t want to assume or push for anything, of course we want to…cuddle.” He makes sure to fill the word with as many smarmy undertones as he can, and it has the desired effect of pulling a laugh out of her as she burrows into Derek’s front, dragging her head up from his pecs to his neck in her own unique way of scenting.

“Watch it, Petey,” She mumbles into the skin of Derek’s neck, giggling at Peters affronted noise of indignation at the nickname, as well as Derek’s deep chuckle that rumbles from his chest. She loses whatever else she was going to say when she is overcome by a massive yawn, and faintly registers a light blanket being pulled over them just before she gives in to the sweet call of sleep.

Waking up today is vastly superior to the day before, Stiles thinks as she slowly floats her way to consciousness. She is snuggled up to a bare, muscled chest, and judging from the lack of hair she encounters as she nuzzles her face in, it belongs to Derek. 

She opens her mouth in an eyewatering yawn and blinks blearily up at his stupidly handsome, rugged face. He appears to still be mostly asleep, his eyes closed and lips slightly parted, breathing deep and even. They are plastered together, and it seems she lost her outer layer of clothing sometime in the night, because she has nothing on except for the panties and sports bra. 

There is a lack of heat at her back, alluding to Peters absence, and she almost panics for a moment before she forces herself to relax. She is home, they are safe, and Peter probably got hungry or had to go to the rest room.

Unfortunately, her two seconds of panic were enough to bring Derek to full consciousness, his strong arms curling around her and squishing her even closer to his chest, and her cheek gets smooshed right over one of his nipples, and if that isn’t a sign from God, what is?

It’s too easy to turn her head and kiss the hardening nub, just a light brushing of her slightly chapped lips to his skin. He jolts under her and she looks up through her eyelashes at his flushed face as she parts her lips deliberately and flicks it with the tip of her tongue. His eyes flash bright blue and a sound resembling a whimper leaves his spasming throat.

The almost wounded sound snaps her out of whatever haze she was in and she blinks in mortification. She just licked Derek’s nipple. While maintaining eye contact. After knowing the man for less than a week.

Ok, so the argument could be made that she didn’t know Peter at all when he fucked her as a wolf, but that was under way different circumstances. Derek didn’t initiate this, even though he did squish her against his sinfully plump flesh, and he definitely isn’t fully awake yet, which is a whole other situation. Isn’t that a thing? Sexual acts while one party is asleep? Salmonella, right?

Derek grips her face in both of his large hands, bringing her attention back to him, and out of her spiral of increasing panic. “What? No, that’s- hey, no, it’s all right, you didn’t do anything wrong, Stiles.” The reassurances are a little stuttered and dry, but Stiles is pretty sure that’s just how Derek talks, and not indicative of his sincerity. Also, she must have been talking out loud, so maybe there is no God after all. She seems to fall in and out of faith as things happen.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, noting how Derek’s brows relax with the action. “You just surprised me, is all. I was- it was nice.” He finishes, averting his eyes as his hands move from cupping her face to smooth over her skin on her sides. She is amused at the darkening blush that stains his skin under his stubble, and decides to take a gamble.

She throws one of her legs over his hip and uses one of her hands to push at his far shoulder, and when he moves over, she follows him, wiggling her body until she is comfortably seated right on top of his clothed erection, their skin pressed together at every possible point. 

He seems more than ok with this new position, his scorching hands settling on her hips as his eyes dart from her face to her body, as if unsure of what he wants to look at more. She winds her arms up over his shoulders, one hand carding through his thick black hair and the other skating over what she could reach of his toned skin, muscled twitching under her fingertips. 

Their faces are inches apart, and she is pretty sure her morning breath doesn’t smell any better to a werewolf’s sensitive nose, but that looks to be far from Derek’s mind if his blown pupils and nearly labored breathing is any indication. 

“Do you wanna kiss me?” She breathes, needing Derek’s permission like she needs air. Luckily, Derek wastes no time, and no sooner do the words leave her lips than does he duck his head and kiss her thoroughly and soundly, leaving her breathless and light headed despite the lack of tongue. 

The slick slide of their lips has a heat building low in her belly, and Stiles’ hips twitch involuntarily, making them both groan at the resulting stimulation. Her grip in his hair tightens, and she swipes her tongue out to lick at his lips, surprising herself with her own boldness. 

If the answering groan and tongue that flicks out to meet hers are any indication, Derek likes it, his fingertip digging into her skin so hard she is sure they will leave bruises, and the thought of being marked in such a way is really riling her up. 

She settles a bit more on Derek’s lap and starts a slow, light grind of her hips, really just shifting her weight back and forth at first, and Stiles learns that Derek is anything but quiet in bed. Sure, he has yet to form any words, but his grunts, groans and occasional whimpers are like a drug to her, and the more she moves her hips, the more delicious sounds she can pull from him.

Curiosity getting the best of her, Stiles leans back, balancing on her arms as she watches herself grind filthily down on the wolf beneath her. Her panties are basically ruined, soaked through as they are, and she is well on the way to ruining Derek’s boxers too, so she grits her teeth and rolls off the bed, feet landing on the carpeted floor with a dull thump.

Derek whines at the loss of Stiles body against his, but lets out a very embarrassed cough to try and cover up the noise. She is too nervous to call him out on it, hands fiddling on the elastic waist of her thin cotton underwear. Derek hones in on the movement, and his nostrils flare, probably scenting her hesitation. 

Before he can try and talk her out of it, or try and talk about it at all, Stiles hooks her thumbs in the material and spins around, giving Derek a front row seat view of her ass as she bends over, inching the article down her legs. 

She slowly straightens back up, stepping out of the panties now lying on the floor. She starts to turn around, but the sound of Derek springing to his feet behind her preludes his arms slipping around her waist as he plasters himself to her back, burying his face in the side of her neck to nuzzle. She brings her arms up to bury them in his soft hair again, and he uses the position to slide the sports bra off as well, leaving her bare to his gaze.

Despite this not being the first time he has seen her naked, Stiles is still surprised at her lack of need to cover up. She has always felt a little self-conscious of her body, and does her best to hide under layers of ill-fitting clothing and plaid. With Derek and Peter, however, she feels no need to hide, or be ashamed, and instead of questioning it, she sinks into the feeling, grinding softly back against the hard planes of Derek’s body.

She can feel his eyes on her exposed skin, and she watches his face as he skims his hands over her curves, barely a brush of his skin on hers, leaving trails of goosebumps in his wake. 

“So beautiful, so perfect for me.” He mutters, and she blushes at the praise, knowing that he means it. She is brought back to the time when he first woke up and saw her for the first time in human form, and called her beautiful despite the dirt on her skin and leaves in her hair.

Its still overwhelming though, and she twists around, taking a step back so that she could look at him, too. 

He is still in the generic boxers that were given to him at the station, and they ride low on his hips, showing off the dark hairs of his happy trail. Other than that, his chest is hairless, and she can’t resist reaching out to touch. 

Just before her fingers make contact she pauses, peering at his face for permission. With a lick of his lips he nods, and she flicks her eyes back down to where her hand now rests on his sternum, his skin fever warm to the touch, what with how werewolves tend to run hot. 

She slowly drags her hand down between his soft yet firm pecs, her other hand flashing out to draw a thumb over a pointed nipple, earning her a harsh gasp as his chest rose and fell under her touch. His muscles twitch under her ministrations, abs tightening as she makes her way to the smattering of dark hair that disappears under his underwear. 

A quick glance at his face again reveals that he has his head tipped back and his eyes are mostly closed in pleasure. She keeps her gaze on his face as she reaches down to palm his erection tenting his boxers.

His eyes spring open and he lets out a startled moan that breaks halfway through in time with her shoving the material down his thighs and pushing him back onto the bed. Unbalenced and caught off guard, he is powerless to stop her, and she keeps shoving until he rests where he was before, his back against the pillows at the head of her bed. 

Stiles swoops in for a quick kiss, breaking away when he tries to deepen it by threading his fingers in her hair. She grabs his wrist to keep his hand there as she trails wet, open mouthed kisses down his sharp jaw, and after a moment she lets go to balance herself above him, and his hand remains. She smiles against his rough stubble, and the feel of it against her sensitive lips and face is electrifying.

She makes her way down his neck with her lips never leaving his skin, and when she finds a suitable spot, she bites. 

Hard. 

Not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a mark, or it would have been if werewolf healing didn’t take care of it. Derek jolts at the flash of pain and Stiles watches as his cock twitches, drooling precome onto his washboard abs with a groan that somewhat resembled her name. 

Preening a bit at being able to induce such a reaction, Stiles slips lower, lips finding and latching on to one of his nipples, and this time she doesn’t hold back. She scrapes the bud with her teeth before flattening her tongue to lave over it, working it over until it’s red and shiny with her spit before moving to the other one to repeat the process. 

After a particularly loud whine, the hand in her hair tugs, and she lifts her head from her task, eyes glazed over and grinning dopily at his flushed expression. She allows him to pull her in for another kiss, but soon pushes away, shifting her body slightly down his, until her head was even with his throbbing cock, and she swears that her cunt throbs in time with it, reminding her of how empty she is.

Pushing aside her own needs, Stiles lays down between Derek’s thick thighs, her hands rubbing up and down the insides of them, reveling in the way he twitched and writhed under her touch. It is a heady feeling, holding such power over Derek, who could easily kill her with one finger. 

When she gets settled, she reaches out and grasps the root of his cock in her hand, lifting it from his stomach, drawing her attention to the trails of shiny precome that glaze his abs. Struck with an undeniable urge, she darts forward and starts lapping at the liquid with small, kittenish licks of her tongue, moaning at the salty taste. 

She has a fleeting thought that male ejaculate is not supposed to taste like watery caramel, but dismisses it in favor of acquiring more of the substance. When his stomach is divested of all its resources and tastes of nothing but sweat and spit, Stiles turns to the source, watching with rapt attention as she strokes his large cock slowly, more precome bubbling out of the slit with each movement. 

He brings his other hand to wrap in her hair when she licks a long, sure stripe up the side of his aching dick, and has to fight to hold back his claws when she moans at the burst of flavor and strange new texture in her mouth.

Stiles will admit, she had a plan when she started going down on him, but now that she is here, she is kind of letting her conscious mind take a back seat to her oral fixation, delighted to have something she desires so much in her grasp, more than ready to figure out all the ways to make it tick, twitch and throb, earning her more of that delicious substance. 

She closes her eyes as she suctions her lips around the fat head, suckling gently, coaxing spurts of precome from his cock, greedily gulping down every drop. 

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek moans above her, petting her head gently. She has one hand stroking the length of his erection that she doesn’t have in her mouth, the other she rests on his stomach, giving in to her obvious fixation with his abs. They twitch and spasm with every touch to his cock, and with every moment, her head feels like it gets lighter and lighter, the world falling away around her until the only thing she can perceive is Derek.

It’s exhilarating, being able to focus so fully on a person, and if her mouth wasn’t busy she would have that stupid dopey grin on her face again, but for now she settles with locking eyes with Derek, watching his face for his reactions when she moves her tongue a new way, or tries sucking harder than before, filing his reactions away to try and make this good for him.

The more she drinks from him, the heavier her eyelids get, a comfortable warmth settling in her stomach. She doesn’t feel tired, though, if anything, she feels more energized, similar to how she felt after the magic fire left her to burn Kate.

Stiles pulls away when Derek’s fingers begin to flex on her head, and silences his whine with her swollen lips, arms wrapping around his shoulders again as she plasters herself to his front, her knees keeping her hips raised just out of reach above his.

“Derek, Derek, please,” Stiles chants against his mouth, her hips twitching uselessly in the air, desperate and needy. “I need, I need,” She pants, incoherent to herself, mind jumping from thought to thought as she tries to communicate her intent.

Luckily, Derek is pretty attuned to Stiles body, deciphering her gibberish instantly. Eager for a chance to get back at her for rendering him speechless with her sinful mouth, Derek smirks. “You want me to fuck you Stiles?” He rasps, lips brushing the shell of her ear as he leans in. “Want me to knot you?”

He had more, but Stiles grabs his cheeks in her surprisingly strong grip and crashes her mouth into his, kissing him roughly. Their teeth clack at first and they wince, but he takes control quickly, taking the kiss from wild and reckless to deep and thorough. 

Stiles melts into his mouth, lining his cock up with her slick heat, not letting it enter her yet, but settling it against her firmly, feeling her muscles contract around it, like her body is trying to suck him in. Her thighs tremble, overwhelmed with the stimuli, and she locks her legs to prevent her from sinking down prematurely.

She doesn’t stop kissing him, even when the sensation of her pussy suckling at the flared head of his cock nearly pushes her into a small orgasm. When she feels like she can actually use her legs to lower herself down, she unlocks her muscles, and lets her weight guide her down onto Derek’s length.

The fat head sinks in, and she stops for a second, shivers wracking her body as she adjusts to the intrusion. Derek’s large, warm hands settle in iron grips on her waist, and he groans at the tight heat around him, straining to keep the wolf from coming out and just throwing her on the ground and taking her. 

There will be time for that later. And there will be a later, if Derek has anything to say about it. He is going to fuck Stiles so well, the thought of leaving his bed isn’t even going to cross her mind.

As it is, Derek lets Stiles take him at her own pace, knowing that he needs to let her do this her way, and one hundred percent okay to let her. As he thinks this, the wolf in his subconscious settles down a bit, seeming to understand that letting Stiles take him at her own pace is key in having her come back for more. 

The moment her body relaxes again, Stiles drops her full weight onto Derek’s lap, impaling herself fully on his cock, and his sight goes white for a moment, shock and pleasure nearly knocking him unconscious. “Fuck! Stiles,” He groans, claws sprouting from his fingers, nearly piercing her pale skin where he is gripping her far too tightly. 

One of Stiles hands flies to her lower stomach, as if she can feel Derek through her skin. She can’t, but the thought is enough to have her clenching down on him, and her hips twitch involuntarily, causing him to rub up right against her g-spot, and she scrambles against his shoulders, crying out as her orgasm hits her, blindsiding her with pleasure.

Derek is a hot, sturdy presence beneath her, and he does his best not to push her for anything before she is ready, but he isn’t a god, he can’t help the way his own hips twitch, trying to bury himself deeper, even as he feels the head of his cock bump and grind against her cervix. 

Their bodies find a rhythm among the feelings of heat and sweat, and Stiles leans her body back, hands moving to grip Derek’s impressive thighs as he leads her up and down his impressive dick. 

Stiles almost loses herself to the slick slide but a wayward thought enters her mind at the last moment, and she all but throws herself off of him. She feels the absence of his skin like a burning itch, but forces herself to take a deep breath and presses one of her hands to her lower stomach, beginning a mantra to activate her magic.

Derek goes through many emotions as Stiles jumps away from him, and it takes a moment for him to come to grips with the reality that she is no longer in his arms and on his dick. Fear is the strongest emotion flying around in his head, fear that he hurt her or did something wrong, despite the lack of pain lacing her scent, which reeks of nothing but arousal and desperation.

He sits up a bit and watches as she takes a calming breath, pushing her hand against the skin above her little bush of hair. His eyes flash at the sudden smell of ozone permeating the air, and the small hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up as she starts muttering what must be a spell.

“May my womb be barren, no matter how much werewolf jizz it gets flooded with. No children, no babies, no pregnancies until I am at least twenty five. My eggs are so not getting fertilized any time soon, but all other functions may go on as scheduled.” Stiles mutters to her stomach- no, her womb. 

Derek starts at the realization that Stiles is talking to her own uterus. With magic. And telling it not to get pregnant, which is good that she remembered, as Derek certainly hadn’t. But, in all fairness, he also didn’t expect to fuck Stiles so soon. 

Her mutterings continue for about three minutes, in which Derek failed to soften even a little bit, the husky sounds of Stiles talking keeping him hard as a rock. Especially when he tuned out all the words around womb and pregnancy. Imagining Stiles heavy and round with his seed is doing things for him, and his wolf is right there with him for once, agreeing wholeheartedly.

Stiles wipes a hand on her brow in exaggeration, and huffs. “Welp, that autta do it! Sorry, I know I kinda pushed you into fucking me, and we kinda maybe forgot to talk about STD’s and protection and all that…” She looks down sheepishly and her eyes go wide as she takes in his yet to flag cock standing at attention against his abs. “Oh.”

Reaching out to her, Derek trails his hands up her thighs to her hips and picks her up, settling her against his cock, but not entering her just yet. “Trust me Stiles, you didn’t make me do anything I didn’t already dream of doing last night.” He smirks at her flush, relishing in the discovery of how multifaceted Stiles is turning out to be. 

He teases her by lightly thrusting his hips, popping the fat head of his cock in and out of her fluttering cunt. “If anything it’s my fault, I just got so caught up in your tight little pussy.” He fucks himself another inch forward into her, languishing in the way her body seems to grip him as he eases in and out in a steady pace. “And werewolves can’t catch or carry any human diseases, sexually transmitted or otherwise.” 

“Oh,” She gasps as he suddenly sinks halfway in for a moment before resuming fucking her with the first few inches of his dick. “That- that’s a handy tidbit.” She stutters, and then berates herself. ‘Handy tidbit’? What is she, some seventeenth century British lady? 

Derek doesn’t seem to mind, if his throaty chuckle is any indication. He doesn’t seem put off about her spaz and penchant for saying weird things. Scratch that, she knows he likes it, or at least thinks that she knows. It’s a strong feeling, one that she isn’t too interested in thinking about right at this moment.

As he pushes himself into her once again, Stiles decides to take a little initiative, and swivels her hips in a corkscrew motion as she drops a little bit of her weight on him, taking him deeper and dragging the flared head of his cock along her sensitive walls. 

“Holy shit- Derek, let me- just- can you?” She can’t find the correct words to fit her thoughts, and instead, she grabs at his wrists where his hands lay on her hips and pins them to the sheets on either side of his head. “Now just let me…” She says to herself mostly, wiggling her body until she finds a comfortable position above him.

Too stunned by the sudden look of euphoria on Stiles beautiful face, Derek allows himself to be manhandled and sits complacently under her while she figures out what she wants to do. The constant moving and small breaks they have taken have done wonders for his stamina, but as she does the twisty thing with her hips again, this time dropping fully onto his cock, he thinks that he might just embarrass himself soon.

Stiles can feel a slight cramp starting in her side from the use of all these muscles she is pretty sure have never been moved before, but the stars that blink in the edge of her vision as she gyrates up and down on Derek’s fat cock are more than worth the trivial aches.

She blinks down at Derek, who has his eyes glued to her chest as her breasts bounce and jiggle with her movements. Relinquishing his hands from her iron grip, she braces herself with her hands on his shoulders. 

He doesn’t immediately move, and she bites her lip to stop from whining. “Derek, please touch me.” She breathes, and her frustration only grows as his hands find their way to her hips again. This time she doesn’t hold back her whine, “Derek! My nipples. Please touch my nipples…” Her face flushes at her request.

The moment the words leave her mouth, Derek’s weak grasp on his control snaps, and in the blink of an eye Stiles finds herself flat on her back, Derek’s body blanketing hers as his hips snap, fucking her hard and deep. She squeaks when he ducks his head down to pull one of her hardened nipples into his mouth, and a violent shiver wracks her spine as she feels a long fang scrape along it.

“Oh, God, Derek!” She cries out, hands gripping his hair as he continues to suckle at her, her spine arching as she pushes her chest into his talented mouth. Stiles can feel the mounting pressure deep within her as he switches his attention to her other aching nipple. His thrusts never slow, each slap of their hips drawing little ‘ah, ah, ah,’ sounds from her parted lips. 

Derek lifts his head from her chest, fingers coming up to play with her red and swollen nipples and she jerks with every pinch to the oversensitive buds. 

A pleased growl rips though him. “So perfect for me, Stiles. Such a perfect mate.” He rumbles, dipping down to claim her plush lips. They meet in a wet and messy slide of spit slick lips and eager tongues, and the sudden increase in pressure with every thrust Derek makes into her throws Stiles over the edge.

She is pretty sure she would have let out a scream to rival Lydia’s if Derek wasn’t occupying her mouth at the moment. Her whole body spasms with the intense waves of pleasure, and Derek just fucks her through it, pushing her further and further until she feels like she is going to explode, or die or break.

When he pushes his swollen knot into her the last time and rears his head back in release, Stiles doesn’t even think. She surges forward and sinks her teeth into the meat of his shoulder and shudders through the most powerful orgasm she has ever felt. 

The moment her teeth meet his skin, she feels the flood of cum gush out inside her, his cockhead nestled right up against her cervix, pumping spurt after spurt of fertile seed directly into her empty womb, the hot liquid soaking her from the inside. The pleasure from that alone brings her to the edge a third time, and when she tears her mouth away from the bloody bite on Derek’s shoulder, he leans down and sinks his fangs into hers, and his hips press even harder against hers, his dick sliding in just a little bit deeper, and she falls apart completely with sobs of pleasure as her body hits that peak for the third time in a row, and she blacks out, eyes rolling back into her skull.

She wakes minutes later, face nestled into the side of Derek’s neck as he holds her in his lap, his back reclined against her many pillows. He is rumbling, actually, literally rumbling, the sound not unlike the purr of a cat. 

Her muscles tighten on reflex when she wakes, and the feeling of Derek’s knot plugging her up sends a muted thrill though her, her body too tired for another orgasm. The pressure around him causes him to flex his hips minutely, rubbing the hard bulb against her g-spot, and unloading another torrent of cum into her stuffed womb. 

“Mmm,” Stiles hums, bringing a hand to her bulging stomach and clenching involuntarily again when she can feel the heat of his cum through her skin. The added pressure also causes the cum to move inside her, and the sensation of such intense heat pressing against all the walls of her womb is intoxicating, almost making Stiles come again. 

As it is, she lazily grinds her hips on his lap, mind floating in the clouds as she licks over the healed scar of her teeth marks on Derek’s shoulder. “Mmmm.” 

Derek is continuously shocked by Stiles. She acts like a wolf, with her ease of touch, her knack for scenting, and just the way she presents herself. The little human, who not five minutes earlier had passed out from three back to back orgasms, is sinfully grinding away on his knot and massaging her swollen stomach, distended slightly from the sheer amount of cum being pumped into her. 

Even as a werewolf with super healing, which carries over to sex in the form of rapidly reduced recovery time, his balls are starting to ache at the sheer volume of sperm he is producing. She had continuously milked his knot even while out cold, like a true cum slut. He hasn’t cum this much in his life, and his wolf hasn’t stopped howling in victory since he knotted and bit her. 

He makes sure to check the bite while she coaxes more jets of cum to add to the sloshing mess inside her. The wound is fully healed, just like he hoped, and she tastes of copper and salt as he licks away the remaining drops of blood from her sweaty skin, and she keens loudly and desperately when he sets his dull, human teeth against the raised scars.

“Looks like I’m late to the party.” Peter leers from the doorway, eyes exaggeratedly raking up and down their naked, entwined forms. He leans against the door frame in what he probably thinks looks like indifference, but Derek can smell his excitement and Stiles can see his tense frame ready to launch at them in a moments notice. 

He seems to have gotten some new clothes, as the generic sweats and tee shirt are gone, replaced with well fitted dark jeans and a long sleeved, blue V-neck that looks like it is a size too small, with the way his arms and chest seem to fight to break free of the fabric, pulling at the seems as he crosses his arms. 

Stiles is still floating on cloud just-had-three-orgasms-and-passed-out, but she still manages a comeback. “I said that…the thing about- with the, yeah.” 

She never said it was a good comeback.

Peter chuckles with a shake of his head while Derek looks equal parts worried and proud that he was able to reduce her to incoherency. His arms tighten around her as he stretches to pull a sheet over them, mostly uncomfortable about being in such an intimate position in front of his uncle, who has never been accused of possessing common courtesy, or manners, especially with his family.

Stiles lets out a little grumble at the fabric settling over her overheated skin, but acquiesces to it easily, lying her head on Derek’s broad shoulder, facing Peter. She studies him, working out how best to get him to abandon his spot at her door with as few words as possible, given the way her last attempt at speech went. She fights down a smile and tries to relax her face into something open and earnest. 

“Alpha?” She whispers, reaching for him with her eyes, as moving her arms is a bit of a chore at the moment. Her underhanded tactic works like a charm, the wolf’s eyes flashing crimson as he closes the distance between them in quick, predatory strides. 

Derek tilts himself away from his alpha as he approaches, and defers to him by dropping his gaze when their eyes meet. Satisfied, Peter turns his full attention to the wonderfully vexing girl in front of him. “Be careful, little red,” He reaches out a hand to caress the side of her face, hand moving to cover the unblemished side of her neck. “Play with fire, and you might get burned.”

In one fluid move, Peter dips his head down and sinks his fangs into the soft flesh of her neck, opposite Derek’s mark. He makes sure not to bite with the intent to turn, which he has oddly had no urges to do, and instead focuses on his intent to claim. 

Stiles is his. Theirs. Hale pack. She belongs to him and Derek, she is mate.

Peter figured it out the moment he smelled her in the forest, but the wolf was in complete control at the time, and he was unable to go about things the way he would have liked, but as the bond cements in his chest and the feeling of being whole fills his entire being, he can’t find it in him to worry when the outcome is everything he ever wanted.

He howls softly, a feat in and of itself, when the little vixen digs her teeth into his neck in retaliation, and the fresh bond sings with reinforced power at the mutual claim. With a few licks, both their wounds are nothing but raised scar tissue, and a glance down at Derek shows the same set of marks on his neck, meaning their new mate marked them both, something Peter thought he would be more bothered by. 

Sharing a mate was far from uncommon, especially more recently, where wolves had to pick from a dwindling pool of potential partners given the need to stay hidden from hunters and from exposing themselves to humans as a whole. No one wants to be the werewolf that goes down for exposing their kind, or even the whole supernatural world, to the humans. Anyway, mate sharing has been a common practice for generations now, and though it will have its awkward moments given that Peter and Derek have less then no interest for each other, Peter finds himself hard pressed to complain. 

With a half hearted grumble, Derek pulls away from Stiles, who doesn’t even have time to mourn his loss before being smothered by her new alpha. Peter wraps her up in his arms and nuzzles against her sweaty forehead, trailing feather light kisses down her face and to her neck while Derek cleans himself up a bit in the bathroom, and he doesn’t even growl when Derek returns with a roll of paper towels and a cup of water, letting Stiles drink her fill while his nephew cleans her up to the best of his ability, what with her clinging to whatever limb gets too close.

By the time Derek is finished cleaning up Peter has her cuddled up in his arms, chest to chest, with his chin resting on top of her head as she snuffles drowsily into his neck, nuzzling the mark she left. Derek lowers himself slowly on to the bed, keeping as far away from the pair as possible.

Peter lets a “tch” sound escape his mouth and gestures to Derek to come closer, moving his arms so that the line of Stiles back is open to the air, and she hardly gets a chance to shiver before the beta sidles up behind her, molding his warm chest to her back and sticking his face into the juncture of her neck, body slumping in relaxation at his new mates sated and happy scent. 

Well, almost happy. Stiles fidgets, shifting endlessly in their embrace and frustration sours the air around her. Peter reaches a hand out to pet her hair, and she seems mollified for a little bit, but after about five minutes she is back to squirming around, restless. 

Derek, still blissed out from knotting and mating, is out cold, and seems oblivious to Stiles increasing ire. When Peter tries to pull back a bit to look her in the face she clings to him like a limpet, not allowing him to leave. 

“Stiles, darling,” Peter starts to say, but the next wriggle from Stiles brings her inner thigh in contact with his erection trapped in his tight pants, and he laments the choice he made wear his new clothes that he got after waking up early this morning. If he still had his police issued sweats he could just slip them down and sink into her tight, wet heat in an instant. 

Stiles lets out a soft but desperate mewl and Peter doesn’t even need to scent the air to know how desperate Stiles is for him right now, barely hanging on to consciousness, muscles tired and sore, yet still aching for her mate, for him. Wanting him. Needing him.

He can feel the fangs drop from his gums and barely suppresses a groan at the thought of someone, of Stiles, needing him. Letting his claws emerge, Peter discards the small part of his brain that cries out about the price tag on his new pants as he slices them at the seams and peels the fabric off of him, flinging the scraps behind him to land in a shredded heap on the floor. 

Stiles lets out a sound best described as a chirp at the feel of skin on skin as their legs entangle, and she finally loosens her hold on him long enough for him to strip out of his shirt, and then her hands are back on him, clumsily running over his lightly furred chest and abdomen, fingers squeezing at his biceps and nails scraping down his back. 

Peter knows his eyes are glowing, but no amount of self control he learned over the years could prevent him from losing himself to the wolf a little bit, preening at his mates inspection and obvious approval of his body. “Like what you see, baby?” He purrs, and her heart stutters in her chest at the endearment, only to start beating nearly twice as fast, a silent whine breaking free of her parted lips. 

Peter is mindful of Derek as he grinds his hips slowly upwards, the weeping tip of his fat cock sliding over her wet, swollen, used sex. “Poor baby, you feel empty don’t you?” Peter teases, fangs slightly slurring his words. His cock nudges against the throbbing entrance to her pussy, but he denies her yet again, shifting ever so slightly so that he slides against her clit instead of sinking into her.

She lets out little mewls and breathy whines as he continues to tease her, sometimes going so far as letting the flared head pop into her only to pull back moments later. He knows if she had more rest she would be fighting him more, perhaps even begging, but right now she can do nothing but take everything he gives her. And she does, beautifully. 

When Peter smells the salt of unshed tears, he finally relents his teasing, fitting himself against her fluttering hole and pushing in, stopping every couple of inches to draw back a small amount before pushing forward again until he is fully seated inside her. 

Stiles lets out a sigh of pure contentment at the feeling of Peter, hot and throbbing and deep inside her. She tilts her head up for a sloppy kiss, lips gliding slickly against each others, tongues slipping and sliding in a wet dance that lacked any and all finesse. 

He can’t reach as deep as he could with this angle, the tip of his cock brushing her cervix with every other thrust, but for now, its perfect. She is still a little sore from earlier, and too much movement would wake Derek, plus, there would be plenty of time later for some good, deep, breeding sex. 

Peter struggled to keep his thrusts slow and even, one hand on her hip to steady her and the other tangled in her hair, fingers massaging her scalp in time to his movements. He can feel his own knot start to catch in her quivering channel, and it seems to be Stiles breaking point. 

“Please, please, please,” She chants, hips canting as she tries to speed up his thrusts to no avail. “Need your knot, knot me, please, knot me,” Her fingers dig into the skin on his shoulders as she clings to him for dear life, the slow, even thrusts along with the pull of his engorged flesh driving her towards what feels like might be the most intense orgasm she has ever experienced.

Her words don’t leave him unaffected, but the need to take care of his mate first overwhelms his own desire, and he presses his face into her hair, mumbling dark promises. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m gonna knot you so good, fill you up so much. Gonna give you everything, make you smell like me for days. Gonna pump you so full, baby, you’ll never get all of me out.” 

He doesn’t know how much she actually hears, his voice pitched lower than he ever had before, but she gasps, body going taut around him, squeezing down on his length like a vice before she shudders, breaking apart for him with a little cry muffled by the skin of his throat, where she has her teeth set against the bond mark she put there earlier.

It’s the catalyst that Peter needed, his knot fully inflating inside her fluttering cunt, the head of his cock spewing his thick, fertile cum directly into her deepest parts, the liquid a pleasant heat that pools inside her, soothing any and all aches she had before. Being an alpha, Peter’s knot will last for at least an hour, but by the way Stiles keeps clenching around him, he has a feeling it will last a little longer. 

Stiles shudders through one last aftershock of her orgasm and slumps into a boneless puddle, like a puppet with its strings cut, the heady aroma of content mate emanates from her, a small smile on her lips as she drifts off, happy to warm his cock and milk his knot in her sleep. 

Peter props his head up on one hand, fondly observing the way Derek snuffles into the back of Stiles neck once she settles, his large form seeming to curl around her back like a protective shell. He reaches over and scents his beta, brushing a hand over his neck, and any tension the boy still held even in his sleep was released, and Peter felt himself relax fully at the sight of his new family. 

With some measure of foresight, Peter grabs the bunched up Star Wars comforter from the foot of the bed and drapes it over them, glad for the absurd size of the thing, making it able to fully cover all three of them, even when pulled up to their chins.

Best not to give the sheriff any reason to shoot them on sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I originally said this would be two chapters and then three, and then four, and I even debated being That Bitch(tm) and making it five, but I chose to stop here for now. Might make a fifth chapter sometime in the future, but right now I am working on writing a new fic, well, a couple new fics, so keep an eye out for when I start posting them. Still in the infancy stage with them but recently I have gotten a burst of inspiration so we'll see. 
> 
> If y'all don't mind, which pairing do you prefer, Stiles and Derek or Stiles and Peter? Trying to decide on a pairing for my Celtic Mythology fic, and I only want it to be one pairing, I want to focus on a single pairing rather than a polyamorous pairing like this fic. Thanks for your input! Hope you liked reading and have a wonderful day!

**Author's Note:**

> The wolf in chapter one is Peter BTW, but if yall wanna imagine its Derek, knock yourselves out, I purposfully left out any damning physical evidence that would lead to the identification of one over the other. Second chapter not written but i know what I am going to write. 
> 
> Loosely based off of a video from the adult side of the web called 'Assumi in the woods' or something.


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